Chapter 8 - The Voice in the Dark
He was bleeding from a cut on his temple, his suit jacket torn, holding a combat shotgun. He looked like an vengeful god stepping out of hell.
He didn't say a word. He racked the shotgun, walked toward the remaining attackers spilling into the courtyard, and executed a brutal, terrifying purge that ended the Marcone threat once and for all within fifteen minutes.
When the final gunshot ceased and the smoke began to clear from the courtyard, silence descended over the Tuscan villa.
Roman dropped the empty shotgun onto the cobbles. He walked slowly toward the garage entrance, his boots clicking against the wet stones.
Aaliyah was sitting on the ground, holding Marco’s bleeding shoulder, her face covered in sweat and soot.
Leo was standing near the stone pillar, his small body uninjured, watching his father walk toward them.
Roman fell to his knees in front of his son, exhausted, covered in blood, his hands shaking violently as he looked at the boy he had fought across two continents to protect.
“Leo…” Roman choked out, tears finally breaking through his stoic defense. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I brought this darkness to you again…”
For three years, Leo had been a silent ghost, trapped in the memory of his mother’s death, unable to speak, unable to express the grief that consumed his small heart.
Slowly, the seven-year-old boy stepped toward his father. He reached out his small, clean hands and cupped Roman’s blood-stained cheeks.
Leo looked into Roman’s eyes, then turned his head to look at Aaliyah, who was watching them with tears pouring down her face.
Then, Leo spoke.
His voice was tiny, raspy from years of disuse, like a dry leaf floating on the wind, but it echoed clearly across the quiet stone courtyard.
“Daddy…” Leo whispered softly. “Don't cry. Aaliyah saved us.”
Roman froze. He stared at his son in utter shock, his mouth opening, unable to process the sound he had prayed to hear for three long years.
“Leo…?” Roman sobbed, pulling the boy into an embrace so tight it felt like he would never let go. “You spoke… my boy… you spoke…”
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Leo hugged his father’s neck, and then, extending his small arm, he reached out toward Aaliyah. “Come here, Aaliyah. Hold us.”
Aaliyah crawled over on her knees, wrapping her arms around both Roman and Leo, locking the three of them into a tight, unbroken circle in the middle of the Tuscan dawn.
