Chapter 7 - THE WAITING ROOM
The sterile white walls of Chicago Memorial Hospital felt like a tomb.
I sat in a hard plastic chair, staring at my hands. They were still stained with Vincent’s blood.
Anthony sat beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been crying for hours, but now he was just exhausted, staring blankly at the floor.
My mother sat across from us, holding two cups of lukewarm coffee she had gotten from the vending machine. She looked entirely out of place in the bright hospital lighting, her burn scars a harsh reminder of everything our family had survived.
"He's been in surgery for four hours," Anthony whispered, his voice cracking. "Mom, what if he doesn't make it?"
I squeezed his knee. "Your father is the most stubborn man I have ever met. He won't leave us."
I had to believe that. I couldn't accept that after three years of lying to protect us, after throwing himself in front of a bullet meant for me, Vincent would die in a cold operating room.
The hospital doors slid open.
Celeste walked in. She was no longer wearing the cocktail dress from the mansion. She wore a sharp FBI windbreaker, her badge clipped to her belt.
She looked at me, her expression professional but softened with empathy.
"Evelyn," Celeste said, pulling up a chair. "I need to update you."
"Dominic?" I asked.
"In federal custody. Denied bail. The wiretap gave us a full confession for racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, and fraud. He’s looking at life in a supermax."
"And Claire?"
My mother stiffened, her hands tightening around the coffee cups.
"Your sister is trying to cut a deal," Celeste sighed. "She's claiming Dominic forced her to do it. But we have her on tape admitting she orchestrated the house fire. She's going away for a very long time."
A heavy wave of relief washed over me, immediately followed by profound sadness. Claire was my sister. I had loved her. But the woman I loved died a long time ago, replaced by someone blinded by greed.
"What about Vincent?" Anthony asked nervously. "He's... he's a boss. Is he going to prison too?"
Celeste looked at the faded Paris train ticket I was still clutching in my hand.
"Three years ago," Celeste began softly, "Vincent came to the Bureau. He knew the life was destroying his soul, and he knew Dominic was plotting against him. Vincent agreed to become a confidential informant."
I stared at her, stunned.
"He turned state's evidence?"
Celeste nodded. "He handed over the ledger to your mother to keep it safe, while systematically feeding us enough low-level busts to build a federal RICO case without blowing his cover. His condition for cooperating was complete immunity for himself, and witness protection for you and Anthony."
Vincent had planned to burn his own empire to the ground just to get us out safely.
Before I could speak, the double doors of the surgical wing swung open.
A surgeon in green scrubs walked out, pulling off his mask. He looked exhausted.
I stood up, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy.
Anthony grabbed my hand.
"Mrs. Moretti?" the surgeon asked.
"Yes," I breathed.
"The bullet missed his heart by an inch, but it nicked a pulmonary artery. He lost a massive amount of blood."
The silence in the waiting room was deafening.
"Is he alive?" I begged.
The surgeon offered a small, tired smile.
"He's stable. He's in the ICU. It will be a long recovery, but your husband is going to make it."
May you like
I collapsed against Anthony, sobbing with pure, unadulterated relief.
We were free.
