Chapter 5 - THE CABIN BY THE LAKE
The rain pounded against the glass, masking the sound of my ragged breathing.
I stared through the window, my mind struggling to process the nightmare unfolding in the cabin’s living room.
Dominic had told me my father was hunting Claire. He had told me they were enemies.
But my father was sitting on the leather sofa, sipping scotch, looking entirely relaxed.
Claire wasn’t a hostage. She was pacing the room, one hand resting on her pregnant belly, the other gripping the collar of my six-year-old son’s shirt. Anthony was crying silently, his little body trembling in terror.
“You promised me the city, old man,” Claire spat, glaring at my father. “You promised me that if I dismantled Vincent’s network from the inside, you would hand me the keys to the Commission.”
My father took a slow sip of his drink.
“I promised you a seat at the table, Claire,” he corrected gently, as if speaking to a petulant child. “I did not promise you the throne. You’re too emotional. You let Dominic impregnate you. A foolish, sentimental mistake.”
Claire’s face twisted in rage.
“Dominic is your blood! This baby is your true heir!”
“Dominic is a coward,” my father replied coldly. “He just called me. He tried to ransom Evelyn’s mother for his own freedom. I had my men run his SUV off the bridge on Interstate 94.”
I gasped, pressing my hand over my mouth.
My mother. She was in that car.
“Good,” Claire sneered, not showing an ounce of remorse for the woman who had raised her. “She was a weak woman anyway. But you still need me. Vincent is dead. I have the Moretti name. And I have the boy.”
She yanked Anthony upward, causing him to cry out in pain.
“Let him go, Claire,” my father said, his voice dropping the polite facade. “He is Evelyn’s son. He is innocent.”
Claire laughed hysterically.
“Innocent? He’s the only legitimate heir to the Moretti empire! As long as he breathes, the Commission will never follow me!”
She pulled a silver revolver from her waistband and pressed it against Anthony’s temple.
“Sign over the offshore accounts,” Claire demanded. “Or your precious grandson dies right here.”
My vision went red.
I didn’t think. I didn’t strategize. The primal instinct of a mother watching her child in danger overrode every logical thought in my brain.
I raised Vincent’s pistol, aimed it at the glass window, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the window into a million jagged pieces.
Claire screamed, ducking away from the shower of glass, dropping her grip on Anthony.
I kicked the remaining shards away and climbed through the window frame, landing hard on the wooden floor.
“Evelyn!” my father shouted, standing up in shock.
I didn’t look at him. I aimed the gun directly at my pregnant sister’s chest.
“Get away from my son,” I said, my voice echoing with a lethal, terrifying calm.
“Mommy!” Anthony sobbed, running toward me.
I caught him with my left arm, pulling him behind me, keeping the gun trained on Claire.
“You stupid bitch,” Claire snarled, recovering her shock and raising her revolver toward me. “You should have stayed dead.”
“Drop the gun, Claire,” I warned her, my finger tightening on the trigger. “You’re pregnant. I don’t want to kill you.”
“You won’t shoot me,” Claire mocked, a cruel, arrogant smile spreading across her face. “You’ve always been weak, Evelyn. Always the victim. While you were playing house, I was sleeping with your husband in your bed.”
She cocked the hammer.
But before she could pull the trigger, a deafening shot rang out inside the cabin.
Claire gasped, her eyes going wide.
The silver revolver slipped from her fingers.
She looked down. A massive bloom of dark red blood was spreading across the shoulder of her white blouse.
She collapsed to her knees, screaming in agony.
I hadn’t fired.
I looked across the room.
My father was standing by the sofa, a smoking pistol in his hand. He had shot his own adopted daughter.
“I told you she was too emotional,” my father said calmly, placing the gun on the coffee table.
He looked at me, a genuine, horrifying smile on his face.
“Hello, Evelyn. It’s been a long time.”
I backed toward the door, pushing Anthony behind me.
“Stay away from us,” I warned, keeping Vincent’s gun aimed at his chest.
“Put the gun down, sweetheart,” my father said softly. “I just saved your life. I’ve spent twenty years building this empire so you and your son would never have to worry about anything.”
“You ruined my life!” I screamed. “You forced Vincent to marry me! You let Claire destroy my family! You killed my mother tonight!”
“Your mother was a casualty of war,” he said, not blinking. “But we can start over. Just you, me, and Anthony. We have enough money to buy a small country.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn, vintage train ticket.
Vintage train ticket. Nguồn: Michael Burrell / Getty Images
“I kept this,” he whispered. “The ticket from the day I left you. To remind me why I was fighting.”
He took a step toward me.
“Give me the micro-SD card, Evelyn. The one your mother hid in her necklace. And we can walk out of here together.”
I stared at him, the depth of his insanity finally clear.
He didn’t love me. He loved control.
“No,” I said.
I raised the gun higher.
But before I could pull the trigger, the front door of the cabin swung open behind me.
I spun around, terrified it was my father’s men.
But it wasn’t.
Standing in the doorway, soaked in rain and shivering violently, was my mother.
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Her clothes were torn, her face bruised and bleeding, but she was alive.
And standing right behind her, leaning heavily against the doorframe with an assault rifle in his good arm, was Vincent.
