Chapter 4 - The Breath of Life
Victoria’s hand trembled so violently that the brass keys rattled against each other like silver coins.
"Leo, listen to me," she pleaded, taking a small, staggering step forward, holding her hands out. "She's lying to you! Lily was being disobedient! She was throwing a temper tantrum because I told her she couldn't have dessert before dinner! I just put her in the pantry for five minutes to cool down! I didn't know she was sick—"
"Mateo," Leo said softly, not even turning around.
Mateo stepped forward, grabbed Victoria by her hair, and slammed her face hard against the cold granite counter of the kitchen island. Victoria shrieked in pain as Mateo snatched the brass key ring from her trembling fingers and tossed them through the air.
Leo caught the keys effortlessly with his left hand.
In one fluid motion, he stepped up to the heavy iron cellar door, inserted the long brass key into the central lock, and turned it with a heavy, metallic clack.
He threw the iron door open.
The cold, damp air of the stone cellar rushed out into the warm kitchen.
Lying at the bottom of the five stone steps, curled into a tiny ball on the freezing concrete floor, was seven-year-old Lily. Her small pink dress was dirty, her face pale blue, her chest completely still.
"Lily!" I cried out, dropping to my knees and rushing down the stone steps before anyone else could move.
I reached her first, pulling her small, fragile body into my arms. Her skin was icy cold. She wasn't drawing air. Her airway was completely closed off by the severe bronchial spasm.
"Give me the inhaler!" I screamed toward the doorway.
Leo was already beside me on his knees. The wealthy, powerful man who commanded hundreds of men in the city’s underbelly didn't care about his four-thousand-dollar suit as he dropped into the dust of the cellar floor. His face broke, the cold granite mask shattering into pure, unadulterated terror.
"Lily," Leo rasped, his voice shaking violently as he took her small head in his large, scarred hands. "Lily, baby, look at daddy. Open your eyes."
I didn't wait for her to open her eyes. I knew how to administer a rescue dose during an unconscious attack—my younger sister had suffered from the exact same condition when we were children.
I held Lily’s chin up to open her airway, inserted the plastic nozzle of the inhaler between her pale lips, covered her small nose with my thumb, and pressed the canister twice, pumping the aerosolized medicine deep into her throat while manually pressing down on her chest to force the air into her lungs.
"Come on, sweet girl," I sobbed, my tears falling onto her pale forehead. "Breathe for me. Please, Lily, breathe!"
Once. Twice. Three times I manually compressed her chest.
Suddenly, a harsh, wet, desperate gasp tore from Lily’s throat.
Her small chest bucked upward as air rushed back into her lungs. She coughed violently, her tiny fingers clutching blindly at the collar of my torn housekeeping dress. Her brown eyes fluttered open, wide and wild with terror, until she saw my face through the dim cellar light.
"Bea..." Lily sobbed, her small voice raw and broken. "Bea... it was dark..."
"I know, baby, I know," I wept, pulling her tight against my chest, rocking her back and forth on the cold stone floor. "I’ve got you. You're safe now. Mr. Mark... your daddy is right here."
Leo let out a long, shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against Lily’s cheek, his powerful arms wrapping around both of us. For three long minutes, the powerful mafia boss sat in the dirt of his own cellar, weeping silently as his daughter gasped for air against my shoulder.
Upstairs in the kitchen, the heavy sound of red and blue emergency lights flashed through the tall windows as two city ambulances and four unmarked police vehicles pulled into the circular driveway.
Leo slowly raised his head. His eyes were red, but the terror had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that was far more dangerous than any shout or yell.
He stood up from the floor, picking Lily up into his arms, keeping her wrapped tightly in his heavy wool coat.
He turned to me, offering his large, gloved hand to help me up from the stone steps.
"Can you walk, Beatrice?" he asked softly.
May you like
"I can walk," I said, taking his hand despite the throbbing pain in my crushed fingers.
"Good," Leo said, turning his head toward the stone steps leading back up to the kitchen where Victoria was being held down on the floor by Mateo. "Because I want you to stand beside me while I destroy her."
