14. Adriana #2
I can see the devastation on Lachlan's face, the way Matteo's accusation cuts through him. "Matteo, that's not—" I start, but he's not listening.
"I want to go home!" He's sobbing now, his whole body shaking. "I want Uncle Gio! I want to go home! I hate you! I hate both of you!"
Lachlan stands up slowly, his hands falling to his sides, and I can see the blood on his palms. His shoulders are rigid with tension. "I'll call the doctor," he says quietly, and then he's gone, leaving me alone with my son's screams and the blood all over us both.
—
The doctor comes and goes. Matteo's wound is cleaned and stitched, and his arm is in a sling after the doctor also saw that he sprained his wrist when he fell.
He's finally fallen asleep after what feels like hours of crying, his face pale and tear-streaked against the pillow.
I sit beside his bed, holding his hand, and I can't stop shaking.
This is my fault. I let Lachlan take us.
I could have refused, run to Gio, stayed with the devil I knew instead of giving in to the boy I once loved, who has become the devil I don't know.
He's ruthless and violent, and he and Gio are going to fight a war over me that I don't want.
A war that's going to drag both Matteo and me deeper into all of this, and prevent us from ever being safe.
Even if Lachlan kills Gio, there will always be something else.
I've grown up in this life, and I know it's true—for men like my father, and Gio, and Lachlan, there are always enemies.
We'll never be safe as long as we're in this world.
Not as long as we're surrounded by men who solve their problems with guns and violence and blood.
I need to get out. I need to get Matteo out.
I wait until the penthouse is quiet and Lachlan is dealing with the aftermath of the attack.
Then I slip out of Matteo's room and make my way down the hall.
I move quickly and quietly, slipping into Lachlan's office through the side door that connects to the library.
Lachlan's desk is a mess of papers and files, and I start rifling through them, my hands shaking, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure someone will hear it.
I don't know what I'm looking for at first. Just something. Anything. Evidence, proof of what he does, of the businesses he runs, of the crimes he's committed.
And then I find a folder, tucked beneath a stack of invoices, labeled with the name of a shipping company I don't recognize.
I open it, and inside are documents—contracts, financial records, shipping manifests.
I grab the folder and shove it into my bag, along with a few other files that look important.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold them, but I force myself to keep searching.
There's a ledger on the desk, handwritten, with names and numbers and dates. I don't understand all of it, but I can see enough to know it's incriminating. I take photos of the pages with my phone, my fingers fumbling over the screen. And then I hear footsteps in the hallway.
I freeze, my heart stopping, and I shove the ledger back onto the desk, trying to make it look like I was never here. The footsteps pass by, and I let out a breath.
I need to go. I need to get out of here before someone finds me.
I slip back out through the library, my bag clutched to my chest, and make my way back to Matteo's room. He's still asleep, and I stand in the doorway for a long moment, just watching him.
I'm doing this for you, I want to tell him. I'm doing this so you can have a life that doesn't involve guns and violence and men who think they own you.
But I don't say anything. I just close the door and go to pack.
Leaving is easier than I thought it would be.
Lachlan is in his office by the time I finish, and his men are scattered throughout the penthouse, dealing with repairs and security.
Gio's attack has one benefit—for the first time since I arrived here, I'm not the primary focus.
It's late evening, and his men are handling cleanup while Lachlan is sequestered away, probably making calls and gathering his own forces to handle the pushback to what Gio has just done.
I know the dance. But I want out of it. And that's what I'm going to do.
I slip past the quiet kitchen with Matteo sleepily in my arms and my bag slung over my shoulder, toward the service entrance.
Usually it's guarded, but with Lachlan's resources spread thinner than usual handling the attack, and expecting that they pushed Gio back for now, there's no one inside or outside watching it.
Quickly, I duck outside and down the nearest alley, holding Matteo tight. "Where are we going, Mama?" he mumbles, still groggy from the pain medication.
"Somewhere safe," I tell him, and I hope it's not a lie.
I have a small amount of cash that I grabbed when I left the estate that night that Lachlan came for us, what I had tucked away in my bedroom that I'd managed to keep when I made small purchases that Gio allowed.
It's enough for a cab ride, at least, and I'm suddenly grateful I haven't had any other opportunity to use it.
I quickly download the Uber app on my phone, fingers shaking with nerves, and call a car.
The charge to Lachlan's card will probably ping immediately—I'm under no illusions that he doesn't have some kind of alert for it, for exactly this reason—but by the time he can do anything, we'll be on our way to the police station.
The moment the blue Honda sedan pulls up, I get in, breathless with fear and exertion. The driver looks anxiously at me, but pulls away from the curb, and I try to stay calm, holding Matteo close as we weave through Chicago traffic.
It takes longer than I hoped, but eventually, I see the building appear. I don't let myself think about what I'm doing or consider the consequences if this goes wrong. I just thank the driver, help Matteo out, and stand there, heart pounding, for a moment.
This is the only way out.
Matteo blinks up at me, confused and disoriented. "Mama? Where are we?"
"We're going to talk to some people who can help us," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady, calm. "It's going to be okay. I promise."
I hold him close, his good arm wrapping around my neck, and we walk into the police station together.
The officer at the front desk looks up as we approach, his expression shifting from bored to concerned when he sees Matteo's cast and the sling. "Can I help you?" he asks, and his voice is kind and professional.
"I need to report a kidnapping." My voice is shaking, but I force the words out anyway. "And I have evidence of criminal activity. I need protection for me and my son."
The officer's eyes widen slightly, and he picks up the phone on his desk, speaking quietly into it. A moment later, a detective appears—a woman in her forties with short gray hair and sharp eyes.
"I'm Detective Addams," she says, extending her hand. "Why don't you come with me, and we can talk about what's going on."
She leads us to an interview room with a table and a few chairs, and a mirror on one wall that I know is two-way glass. Matteo sits beside me, his head resting against my arm, and I can feel him trembling.
"It's okay," I whisper to him. "We're safe now."
Detective Addams sits across from us, a notepad and pen in front of her. "Okay," she says gently. "Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened."
And I do.
I tell her about Gio. About the years of abuse and how he controlled every aspect of my life.
I tell her about Lachlan and how he broke into the estate and took us, about the forced marriage, about the attack today that left my son injured and terrified.
I feel the betrayal on my lips with every word, guilt flooding me as I condemn the man who was once a sweet boy that I loved, but I don't know what else to do.
I could never have done this to the Lachlan I knew. But he's gone, and the man in his place is someone who scares me as much as he makes me want him, who is an echo of the person I loved. And I have a son.
No matter how awful it makes me feel to do this, I have to protect Matteo. That's what matters most now. If it means damning Lachlan, I have to live with it.
Still, I feel tears well in my eyes as I pull out the folder. My hands are shaking, and I want to run, to tell the detective I didn't mean any of it. Lachlan will be so hurt when he finds out what I've done. He won't be angry with me, or want to hurt me… he'll be devastated. Destroyed.
Shouldn't that tell you something? Gio would hurt you for something like this, but Lachlan would be broken by it. Isn't that proof they're different? That—
I silence the voice in my head and push the folder toward Detective Addams, opening my phone to show her the photos as well.
"This is evidence," I say, spreading the documents across the table.
"Lachlan Gallagher runs the Irish mob in Chicago.
These are records of his businesses—shipping companies, construction firms, nightclubs.
They're all fronts. He's laundering money, trafficking weapons, God knows what else.
I have photos of his ledgers too. Names, dates, transactions. Everything you need to arrest him."
Detective Addams is staring at the documents, her expression unreadable, and I can see her jaw tighten as she flips through the pages.
"Miss Santoro," she says finally, "I understand why you've brought me this. If what you're saying is true, this is a major case. But—"
"It's true." I interrupt her quickly, my words coming sharp and fast. "I'm willing to testify. I'll tell you everything I know. I just need you to protect us. I need you to lock him up so he can't come after us."
She sits back, letting out a slow breath. She looks almost apologetic, and my heartbeat speeds up, a sense of dread filling the room. "Miss. Santoro, I understand you want protective custody. And I'm sympathetic to your situation, but—"