Chapter 6 - The Price of Blood
The click of the gun’s hammer being pulled back sounded deafening in the quiet cemetery.
I stood frozen, clutching the heavy steel lockbox against my chest. The cold dampness of the grass seeped into my sneakers, but I couldn't feel it over the icy terror flooding my veins.
Vanessa stepped into the moonlight, the designer heel of her shoe sinking slightly into the mud. She looked entirely out of place among the gravestones, yet the malice in her eyes made her the most dangerous thing in the dark.
“You followed me,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“I didn't have to,” Vanessa laughed softly, adjusting her coat. “When I realized Andrew was an accountant, I knew he wouldn't hide physical ledgers in a house. He’d hide them somewhere permanent. The family plot was the first place on my list. Finding you here just saves me the trouble of digging.”
The man with the gun stepped closer. He was broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar running down the side of his neck. He wasn't mafia. He looked like a mercenary.
“Hand over the box, lady,” the man ordered, gesturing with the barrel of his pistol.
I held the box tighter. “Vanessa, if you take this, Luca will hunt you to the ends of the earth. You know what this ledger means to him.”
“Luca is a fool,” Vanessa sneered. “He wants to burn the ledger to protect his father’s legacy. I’m going to sell it to the Falcone family. With the names in that box, the Falcones can dismantle the Moretti empire in a week. And I’ll be twenty million dollars richer.”
“You’d start a mob war for money?” I asked, disgusted. “People will die. Innocent people.”
“Oh, Nora,” Vanessa sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re so tragically noble. It’s why you’re standing in a graveyard holding a box you don't even know how to open, about to die for a husband who lied to you.”
She nodded to the mercenary. “Take the box. Kill her.”
The man stepped forward, reaching out to grab the steel handle.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I swung the heavy steel lockbox upward with every ounce of strength I had, smashing the solid metal corner directly into the mercenary’s face.
The man roared in pain, blood exploding from his nose. His gun went off, the suppressed shot burying itself in the dirt near my foot.
I didn't wait. I turned and ran into the darkness, sprinting between the headstones as fast as my legs could carry me.
“Shoot her!” Vanessa screamed hysterically from behind me.
I heard footsteps pounding after me, heavier and faster than mine. I ducked behind a massive marble mausoleum just as another suppressed shot chipped the stone where my head had been seconds before.
My lungs burned. I clutched the box to my chest, panting, trying to figure out how to get to the main gate. The mercenary was between me and the exit.
“There’s nowhere to go, Nora!” the mercenary called out, his voice thick with blood and rage. “Give up the box and I’ll make it quick!”
I backed away, inching along the cold marble wall. If I died here, Lucy would be alone. Vanessa would make sure of it. The thought of my daughter crying in the Moretti estate, waiting for a mother who would never come back, ignited a fierce, desperate fire inside me.
I wasn't going to die here.
I slipped off my black sweater, wrapping it tightly around the lockbox to muffle the sound. Then, with a deep breath, I threw the sweater-wrapped box as hard as I could into the bushes ten feet away.
It landed with a heavy rustle.
The mercenary immediately spun toward the sound, raising his gun.
I stepped out from behind the mausoleum, picked up a heavy, loose piece of granite from a broken headstone, and hurled it at his back.
It struck him squarely between the shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, cursing loudly.
I used the distraction to sprint toward the back wall of the cemetery. I didn't care about the ledger anymore. I just cared about getting back to my daughter.
I reached the wrought-iron fence and began to climb. The metal was slippery with dew. I threw one leg over the top, but a hand suddenly wrapped around my ankle, yanking me violently downward.
I screamed as I fell, crashing into the hard dirt.
The mercenary stood over me, his face a bloody, enraged mask. He raised his gun, aiming it squarely at my forehead.
“Stupid bitch,” he spat.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the end.
A deafening gunshot echoed through the cemetery.
But it wasn't suppressed. And I didn't feel anything.
The grip on my ankle loosened.
I opened my eyes and saw the mercenary collapse sideways, a gaping hole in his shoulder. He hit the ground, dropping his weapon, writhing in agony.
I scrambled backward, gasping for air.
Stepping out from the shadows of the old oak trees was Luca Moretti.
He was holding a smoking handgun, his chest heaving, his dark eyes blazing with a protective fury that made the mercenary whimper in fear.
Luca walked over and kicked the mercenary’s fallen gun away. Then, he aimed his weapon down at the man’s head.
“Who sent you?” Luca demanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl.
Before the man could answer, a set of headlights suddenly flashed on from the road outside the fence. Vanessa’s car. Tires squealed as she slammed the accelerator, abandoning her hired gun and fleeing into the night.
Luca didn't chase her. He kept his gun on the bleeding man.
“Who are you working for?” Luca repeated.
The man coughed up blood, laughing weakly. “You think... she’s working alone? The Falcones already paid her.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. He raised the gun to finish it.
“Luca, no!” I shouted, pushing myself up from the dirt. “Don't! Not in front of me.”
Luca froze. He looked at me, his finger lingering on the trigger. For a second, the mafia boss wrestled with the man who wanted to be better.
Slowly, Luca lowered the gun. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and spoke briefly. “Cleanup at St. Jude’s. One alive. Bring him to the warehouse.”
He hung up, holstering his weapon, and rushed over to me.
He dropped to his knees, his large hands frantically checking my arms, my face, my neck for injuries. “Are you hit? Did he shoot you?”
“I’m okay,” I sobbed, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving me weak and shaking. I fell forward into his chest.
Luca caught me, wrapping his arms tightly around me, holding me against his beating heart. “I told you not to leave the house, Nora. I told you.”
“I had to get it,” I cried into his shirt. “I had to get the ledger.”
Luca pulled back slightly, looking at me in shock. “You found it?”
I pointed toward the bushes near the mausoleum. “It’s in my sweater.”
Luca stood up, pulling me with him. He walked over to the bushes and retrieved the black lockbox. He stared at it, the physical proof of his father’s sins resting in his hands.
“Let’s go home,” Luca said softly.
We drove back to the estate in silence. The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, painting the horizon in bruised shades of purple and gray.
When we reached the west wing, I rushed inside to check on Lucy. She was still fast asleep, clutching her stuffed rabbit, completely oblivious to the fact that her mother had almost died in a graveyard.
I sat on the edge of her bed, weeping silent tears of gratitude.
After a few minutes, I walked out into the private sitting room. Luca was standing by the fireplace, the steel lockbox sitting on the coffee table. He had managed to pick the lock.
The lid was open.
I walked over to him, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill. “Is it all there?”
Luca didn't look up. He was staring at a stack of documents inside the box.
“The ledger is here,” Luca said, his voice strangely hollow.
“Then burn it,” I said. “End this.”
Luca finally looked at me. His eyes were wide, filled with a shock that mirrored the devastation I had felt earlier that night.
He reached into the box and pulled out a smaller, yellowed envelope.
“Nora,” Luca whispered, holding the envelope out to me. “Andrew didn't just hide the ledger.”
I frowned, taking the envelope. It was sealed, but the name written on the front wasn't Andrew’s. It wasn't mine.
It was Lucy’s.
“What is this?” I asked, my hands shaking again as I tore it open.
I pulled out a single sheet of paper. It looked like an old medical record, stamped with the seal of a private maternity clinic.
I read the names on the birth certificate.
Mother: Unknown.
Father: Andrew Bennett.
But the date of birth was wrong. It was dated two years before I ever met Andrew.
I read the next line, and the room began to spin.
Child’s Blood Type: AB Negative.
May you like
I stared at the paper, my breath catching in my throat. I looked at Luca, who was watching me with a heartbreaking realization in his eyes.
“Nora,” Luca said softly. “Andrew had O-positive blood. It’s medically impossible for him to be an AB-negative child’s father.”
