Chapter 8 - A Father's Blood
The third-floor daycare facility was a shattered nightmare of overturned plastic tables, scattered toys, and broken glass.
Dante Stal had realized three minutes ago that he was losing the ground war in the lower halls. In a desperate bid for leverage, his remaining men had breached the third floor, seeking hostages.
Dante stood near the center of the playroom, holding a heavy pistol, grabbing five-year-old Leo by his small leather jacket.
Leo didn't cry.
He was terrified, his small body shaking violently, but his stormy silver eyes were wide, glaring up at the scarred gunman with a cold, fierce defiance that was terrifyingly familiar.
"Let go of me, you ugly man," Leo rasped, trying to twist out of his jacket. "My Uncle Marco is gonna break your legs!"
"Shut up, you little brat!" Dante Stal snarled, pressing the barrel of his gun against Leo’s forehead. "You're my ticket out of this city. Your mother made a big mistake coming back from the dead—"
BOOM!
The reinforced double doors of the daycare room didn't just open—they were blown off their heavy steel hinges by a breaching charge.
The doors flew across the room, crushing one of Stal’s mercenaries against the wall.
Through the heavy white smoke stepped Luca Fontana.
He looked like a nightmare summoned from the depths of hell. His charcoal suit was soaked in blood, his silver hair wild, his Sig Sauer held low at his side.
Behind him, Giana stepped into the room, her eyes locking onto her child. "LEO!"
"STAY BACK!" Dante Stal shrieked, tightening his grip on Leo’s jacket, pulling the small boy in front of his chest as a human shield. "One step closer, Fontana, and I blow his brains across the carpet!"
Luca stopped ten feet away.
His silver eyes locked onto the five-year-old boy.
For the first time in five years, Luca’s heart beat with a ferocious, overpowering love. He saw his own eyes looking back at him from the small, brave face. He saw Giana’s dark hair, his grandfather’s chin, his family's blood.
His son.
"Look at me, little man," Luca said softly, his deep voice carrying a strange, peaceful warmth amidst the absolute horror of the room.
Leo looked at the giant man standing in the doorway—the silver-haired titan holding a gun, covered in blood, looking at him with eyes that felt like a mirror.
"Are you the tall man from Mommy's pictures?" Leo asked softly, his voice small, curious.
A tiny, painful smile touched Luca’s lips. "I am, Leo. I'm your father."
Dante Stal panicked. Seeing Luca’s focus shift, he raised his revolver toward Giana, intending to eliminate the mother and break Luca’s spirit once and for all.
"NO!"
Luca didn't hesitate. He didn't calculate angles or worry about his own skin.
Luca sprinted forward, throwing his broad body directly into the line of fire.
BANG!
A heavy .45 caliber round tore directly into Luca’s upper right chest, spinning him around. Blood spattered across the white carpet.
Giana screamed in horror.
Despite the lethal wound, Luca didn't fall. Driven by pure, unadulterated primal fury, he grabbed Dante Stal’s gun arm with his left hand, snapping the wrist backward with a sickening crunch.
Stal shrieked in agony as his gun clattered to the floor.
Luca snatched Leo out of Stal’s grip with his right arm, tucking the small boy safely against his uninjured chest, shielding him completely with his broad body.
Then, turning his silver eyes onto Dante Stal, Luca drew his combat knife with his teeth and drove it straight through Stal’s throat, pinning the mercenary leader to the wall.
Stal choked once, his eyes rolling back, and slumped dead onto the floorboards.
Silence descended over the shattered room.
Luca collapsed onto his knees, still holding five-year-old Leo tightly against his chest, his broad shoulders rising and falling heavily as dark red blood poured from the wound in his chest.
"Daddy!" Leo cried, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around Luca’s thick neck. "Daddy, you're bleeding!"
Giana dropped to her knees beside them, her hands frantically pressing against Luca’s chest wound, trying to stop the heavy flow of blood.
"Luca! Stay with me! Don't you dare die!" she wept hysterically, tears washing through the dust on her cheeks. "Do you hear me?! You just found us! You don't get to leave us now!"
Luca looked up at her through a haze of fading consciousness. He reached up a blood-stained hand, gently touching her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears.
"I saved... the boy, Giana..." Luca whispered, a soft, peaceful smile breaking across his pale lips. "I didn't... leave him..."
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"I know," Giana sobbed, pressing her forehead against his, kissing his bloody cheek. "I know, my love. You saved us. Now hold on!"
As the distant sirens of emergency vehicles wailed through the Chicago night, Luca closed his eyes, his heavy arms locking around his wife and his son, refusing to let go ever again.
