Chapter 8 - THE GOLD NECKLACE
The gold necklace hit the marble floor with a sickening clink.
Answer one: The New York syndicate didn't just want Elena or the shipping routes. They had been hunting my family. Don Falcone held my mother hostage to force my hand.
"Mom," I choked out, staring at the locket. My mother was supposed to be recovering from surgery in her safe, quiet apartment.
"She's resting comfortably in one of my vehicles outside," Don Falcone said, his raspy voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She will remain comfortable, provided you hand over the rosary around your neck, Miss Collins."
Luca stepped slightly in front of me, shielding my body with his massive frame.
"You touch one hair on her head, Falcone, and I will burn New York to the ground," Luca promised, his voice vibrating with a lethal, terrifying calm.
"Brave words for a man who is outnumbered in his own foyer," Falcone sneered. "Your father was a rat, Hannah. He stole syndicate money to fund Elena's escape. Give me the rosary to find her, and I let your mother live."
Open two: If my father stole money from New York, where is it? And how can we save my mother without sacrificing Elena to these monsters?
I clutched the wooden beads of the rosary. It was the only leverage I had.
"You don't want Elena," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "You want the money my father stole."
Falcone’s eyes narrowed. "I want both."
"If you kill us, you get neither," I stated, stepping out from behind Luca. "Let my mother go, and I will take you to St. Jude’s Parish. I will show you where the money is."
"Hannah, no," Luca warned in a low whisper, his hand grabbing my wrist.
I looked up at him, pouring all my unspoken trust into my gaze. Trust me, I mouthed silently.
Luca’s jaw ticked, but he slowly lowered the shotgun.
"Bring the woman in," Falcone ordered his men.
Two New York soldiers dragged my mother through the front doors. She looked terrified, wearing her nightgown and a thin coat, but she was unharmed.
"Hannah!" my mother cried out.
"Let her go to Luca," I commanded Falcone.
Falcone nodded. His men shoved my mother forward. Luca caught her, pulling her safely behind his armed guards.
"Now," Falcone smiled, raising his cane. "The rosary."
I took the wooden beads off my neck. I looked at the silver crucifix, reading the engraving one last time.
Then, with a swift, deliberate motion, I snapped the silver crucifix in half.
"No!" Falcone roared.
Inside the hollow silver cross, a tiny, rolled-up piece of microfiche fell onto the floor.
Before Falcone's men could move, I stomped my heavy work shoe directly onto the delicate film, grinding it into the marble until it was nothing but useless plastic dust.
"You destroyed the account numbers!" Falcone screamed, his sophisticated facade completely shattering. "Kill them!"
"Drop your weapons!" a voice boomed from the top of the grand staircase.
Everyone froze.
Standing on the landing, flanked by ten of Luca’s elite snipers with laser sights pointed directly at Falcone's chest, was Teresa Moretti.
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She wasn't in her wheelchair. She was standing perfectly straight.
TITLE: THE FAMILY HEIRLOOM
