Chapter 9 - THE SHREDDED PAGES
Roman screamed.
It was a guttural, animalistic sound of pure despair. He pounded his fists against the bulletproof glass as the shredder tore through the pages of his blackmail empire.
The evidence he needed to keep the rival families and the politicians under his control was turning into confetti.
“No! Nora, stop!” Roman begged, dropping to his knees. “Please! They’ll kill me!”
I didn't stop the machine. I watched every single page disintegrate.
When it was done, I picked up the phone connecting to the bank’s emergency line. My father-in-law had left the direct number to the Italian Mafia Commission in the file.
I dialed.
“This is Nora DeLuca,” I said calmly into the receiver. “Roman’s ledger is destroyed. His accounts are empty. He is currently standing in the lobby of the Geneva Private Bank.”
I hung up.
Roman stared at me through the glass. The realization of what I had just done washed over him. He wasn't a boss anymore. He was a dead man walking.
Sirens began to wail in the distance. The bank security, realizing the breach, had locked the building down. Roman’s bribed guards fled.
Roman looked at me, then at Leo.
For a fraction of a second, I saw a flicker of regret in his dark eyes. Then, he turned and ran, disappearing into the chaotic lobby.
The bank manager unlocked our door ten minutes later, apologizing profusely alongside the local police.
We walked out into the crisp Swiss air.
Roman was gone. Captured or fleeing, it didn't matter. He could never return to Chicago. He could never touch us again.
I knelt down in front of Leo.
“It’s over,” I promised him, wiping a tear from his cheek. “He can never hurt you again.”
Leo threw his arms around my neck. He held me tightly, his face buried in my shoulder. “Mom,” he whispered.
It was the most beautiful word I had ever heard.
Elena stood beside us, smiling through her tears. We had both been victims of the same man, but together, we had defeated him.
Six months later.
The sun shone brightly over our new estate in Tuscany. The millions from the Swiss account had bought us freedom, security, and a new life.
Teresa had moved in with us. She sat on the patio, sipping wine, watching Leo play soccer in the grass with the local boys.
I stood in the kitchen, slicing a fresh cake. I wasn't using the silver knife from my wedding. I had thrown it into the sea.
I walked out to the patio, setting the plate down.
“He looks happy,” Elena said, taking a slice.
“He is happy,” I smiled, looking at my son. “He’s safe. He’s loved. He belongs to us.”
The nightmare was finally over. I had lost fifteen years of my life to a lie, but I had gained a family that could never be broken.
Teresa raised her glass of wine.
“To Nora,” the old woman smiled warmly. “A woman whose strength is unquestionable.”
I smiled, raising my own glass.
But as I took a sip, my phone buzzed on the table.
It was an unknown number.
I answered it.
“Hello?”
A raspy, familiar voice echoed through the speaker.
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TITLE: THE BURNED PHOTOGRAPH
