Chapter 8
The humming of the refrigerator suddenly sounded like a jet engine in the quiet kitchen.
Teresa looked terrified, but she stood as straight as her frail body would allow. She didn't look at Arthur. She looked directly at her son.
"Don't do it, Luca," the old woman whispered.
Arthur jammed the barrel harder into her gray hair. "Shut up."
Luca’s face was a mask of pure stone. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his weapon and placed it on the kitchen island. He kicked it away.
"Let her go, Arthur," Luca said, raising his empty hands. "You have me. This is between us."
Arthur smiled, keeping the gun trained on Teresa as he stepped fully into the kitchen. Vanessa appeared behind him, her face stained with tears, looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, it's never just between us, Luca," Arthur said. "It's about legacy. It's about taking what was denied to me."
He gestured to Vanessa with his chin. "Pick up his gun."
Vanessa hesitated, trembling in her red evening gown.
"Do it!" Arthur snapped.
She scurried forward, grabbed Luca’s gun from the floor, and backed away, pointing it shakily toward us.
"You see," Arthur continued, "when my men outside realize the lights went off, they’ll call the police, claiming a home invasion. When the cops arrive, they’ll find a tragedy. A disgruntled maid—" he pointed at me "—tried to rob the house. The brave mafia boss tried to stop her, but both were killed in the crossfire. Vanessa, the grieving fiancée, inherits the empire."
"Nobody will believe that," Luca said.
"They will when they find the stolen cash in the maid's apartment," Arthur smiled. "I had a team plant it there an hour ago. Along with the medical records proving her mother was blackmailed."
My stomach turned to ice. He hadn't just planned a murder; he had framed me perfectly.
"Leave Hannah out of this," Luca growled, taking a half-step forward.
"Ah, ah!" Arthur warned, cocking the hammer of the pistol against Teresa's head. "Not another inch."
"Arthur," Vanessa cried out suddenly. "Please. We don't need to kill them. We can just take the money and leave."
Arthur looked at his daughter with absolute disgust. "You weak, pathetic girl. You are just like your mother. No spine."
"She has more spine than you," Teresa suddenly spoke up.
Arthur looked down at her. "Excuse me?"
"I said," Teresa breathed, her voice gaining the authority it had held before her stroke, "she is stronger than you. You are a coward, Arthur. You always have been."
"Shut your mouth."
"You couldn't win me, so you tried to break my family," Teresa said, staring straight ahead. "You pushed an innocent baby into a pool, and you’ve spent thirty years blaming a dead man for your own sins."
Arthur’s face flushed violently. "I told you to shut up!"
"Do you know why my husband paid Vanessa's mother?" Teresa asked, her voice echoing in the kitchen. "He didn't pay her to take the blame."
Arthur frowned.
I looked at Teresa in shock.
"He paid her to run," Teresa revealed, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "He paid her so she could take Vanessa and hide from you. Because he knew what a monster you were. He was trying to save your daughter."
Vanessa gasped, dropping the gun entirely. It clattered on the floor.
"He paid us... to hide?" Vanessa whispered.
"Yes," Teresa sobbed. "But he found you anyway. And he broke you both."
Arthur’s eyes went wild. The control was slipping from his grasp.
"Lies!" he screamed. He raised the gun, pointing it squarely at Luca's chest. "I'm ending this right now."
Everything happened in a fraction of a second.
Vanessa lunged forward, tackling Arthur’s arm.
Arthur roared, throwing her off with brutal force, but it threw his aim off.
BANG.
The gun went off.
Not suppressed. This was Luca’s gun on the floor, which had discharged when Vanessa kicked it as she lunged.
The bullet shattered the overhead light fixture, sending sparks raining down.
In the chaos, Luca vaulted completely over the marble kitchen island.
He tackled Arthur to the ground. The two men crashed into the stainless steel oven, the sickening crunch of bone echoing in the room.
I rushed forward and grabbed Teresa, pulling her back against the wall, shielding her body with my own.
Arthur fought like a wild animal, slashing at Luca’s face with the barrel of his gun. But Luca was thirty years younger, and fueled by a lifetime of rage.
Luca grabbed Arthur’s wrist, twisting it violently until a sharp crack rang out.
Arthur screamed, dropping the weapon.
Luca drove a brutal punch into Arthur’s jaw, knocking his head back against the tile floor. Arthur went limp.
Luca stood up slowly, his chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow.
He kicked the gun away.
The kitchen fell dead silent, save for Vanessa’s quiet sobbing on the floor.
Luca turned toward us. He didn't look at Arthur. He didn't look at Vanessa.
He walked straight to his mother and fell to his knees in front of her.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her lap like a little boy.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Luca broke down, his shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."
Teresa ran her trembling hands through her son’s dark hair, kissing the top of his head.
"It's okay, my sweet boy," she whispered. "It's over. We're safe now."
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I stood there, leaning against the cold wall, tears streaming down my face.
The sirens began to wail in the distance.
