Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT ST. CECILIA FOUGHT BACK
At 11:56 p.m., Sister Teresa turned off the last light in the west dormitory.
Thirty-two children were awake.
Not one was in bed.
They sat on the floor of the basement chapel wearing coats over pajamas.
The oldest children held the hands of the youngest.
Sister Agnes stood near the boiler room door.
A police officer guarded the stairs.
They had received Dominic's warning five minutes earlier.
Too late to evacuate everyone safely.
So Sister Teresa did what she had done through hurricanes, fires, broken heaters, lost children, and twenty-seven years of budget emergencies.
She made a plan.
"Nobody leaves this room," she told them.
Tommy raised his hand.
"Sister?"
"What?"
"Are bad guys coming?"
She looked at him.
Children knew when adults lied.
"Maybe."
Tommy swallowed.
"Are we gonna die?"
Sister Teresa walked over and crouched.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am in an extremely bad mood."
A few children laughed.
Exactly what she wanted.
Upstairs, tires rolled to a stop outside.
The officer touched his radio.
Then swore.
"Three vehicles."
Sister Teresa stood.
"How long until backup?"
"Seven minutes."
She looked at the basement door.
Too long.
Outside, four armed men entered through the side gate.
They expected an orphanage.
Old nuns.
Children.
No resistance.
They did not expect Dominic Moretti's second security team positioned on the roof.
The first Rossi man reached the courtyard and immediately found a red laser dot on his chest.
"Drop it!"
He fired instead.
The night exploded.
Inside the chapel, children screamed.
Sister Teresa raised her voice.
"Eyes on me!"
Thirty-two faces turned.
"Remember the fire drill."
"This isn't a fire," Tommy said.
"No. But the rules are the same. We stay together."
Upstairs, glass shattered.
The officer fired.
Then the basement lights went out.
A little girl began crying.
Sister Teresa moved toward the emergency lantern.
The boiler room door opened behind her.
She turned.
A man stood there.
Not one of Dominic's.
He had entered through the old coal passage.
His weapon pointed toward the room.
Everything became still.
The officer spun.
Too late.
The intruder fired.
The officer fell, struck in the shoulder.
Children screamed.
Sister Teresa stepped between the gunman and them.
"Move," he said.
"No."
"I said move."
"You are pointing a gun at children."
"I don't want the kids."
"What do you want?"
"Mia Moretti's records."
"They're gone."
"Then tell me where the copies are."
"There are no copies."
The man raised his weapon.
Sister Teresa did not move.
"I have spent forty-one years being threatened by children under twelve," she said. "You are not nearly as frightening as you think."
The gunman took one step.
Then a small hand threw something.
A metal toy truck hit him directly in the forehead.
He flinched.
Tommy shouted, "Run!"
Chaos.
Children scattered behind pews.
Sister Teresa grabbed the gunman's wrist.
He cursed.
The wounded officer tackled him.
The weapon skidded across the chapel floor.
Sister Agnes kicked it beneath a cabinet.
Then another sound came from the stairs.
Boots.
Fast.
Sister Teresa grabbed a wooden crucifix.
A figure appeared.
"Don't hit me."
Dominic.
Mia was in his arms.
Sister Teresa nearly collapsed.
"Mia."
Mia slid down and ran to her.
Sister Teresa hugged her.
Then held her at arm's length.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"You ran away."
"I know."
"You were kidnapped."
"I know."
"You are grounded until college."
Mia burst into tears.
Sister Teresa hugged her again.
Dominic looked around.
"Everyone okay?"
The wounded officer grunted.
"Mostly."
Nico entered behind him.
"Courtyard secured."
Dominic looked at the children.
Thirty-two faces stared back.
Tommy pointed at him.
"Bad-guy-looking guy!"
Dominic recognized him.
"Good evening."
Tommy looked impressed.
"You came back."
Dominic's expression changed.
"Yes."
Mia heard.
So did Sister Teresa.
Came back.
Perhaps the two most important words Dominic would ever teach his daughter.
By 1:20 a.m., St. Cecilia was surrounded by police cars, ambulances, news vans, and furious city officials.
Dominic stood near the oak tree while Mia sat wrapped in a blanket.
The Rossi attack had failed.
Victor D'Amato was dead.
Three gunmen were in custody.
Two Moretti captains had agreed to cooperate with prosecutors in exchange for reduced charges.
Marco Bellini was alive.
Barely.
The bullet had missed his heart.
Dominic did not know how he felt about that.
Nico approached.
"Police want a statement."
"They can wait."
"There's something else."
Dominic looked over.
Nico handed him a phone.
Angela Russo had regained consciousness.
Dominic answered.
"Angela."
"Is Mia okay?"
"She's here."
"Thank God."
Angela breathed shakily.
"I remembered something."
"What?"
"Elena left a letter."
Dominic froze.
"For you."
"Where?"
"She didn't trust me to keep it. Too dangerous."
"Then where?"
"With Father Callahan."
Dominic frowned.
"Who?"
"Priest at St. Andrew's in Philadelphia. Elena said if Mia ever found you, he was supposed to give it to you."
Dominic looked toward Mia.
"Is he alive?"
"I think so."
At dawn, Dominic and Mia drove to Philadelphia.
Sister Teresa came too.
No one argued.
Father Michael Callahan was seventy-eight and living in a retirement residence attached to St. Andrew's.
When Dominic gave his name, the priest stared at him for a long moment.
Then said, "You took your time."
Dominic almost laughed.
"I didn't know."
"I know."
The priest led them into a small office.
From a locked drawer, he removed a cream-colored envelope.
DOMINIC.
Elena's handwriting.
Dominic's hand shook.
Mia noticed.
"You first," she whispered.
He looked down.
"What?"
"You were scared first at the blood test."
Dominic almost smiled.
He opened the letter.
Elena's words crossed nine years.
Dominic,
If you are reading this, then Mia found you, or someone good finally found you for her.
I need you to know one thing before anything else.
I never stopped loving you.
I left because I believed staying would get you killed.
Later I learned I had been lied to, but by then I was frightened, pregnant, and too deep inside a life built from false names.
I tried to reach you.
I failed.
That is my greatest regret.
Mia is stubborn.
She hates peas.
She sleeps with one foot outside the blanket.
She gets quiet when she's scared.
Please do not mistake that silence for weakness.
She watches everything.
She remembers kindness.
And if she ever asks why you didn't come for her, tell her the truth.
Tell her you didn't know.
Then spend the rest of your life proving you would have come.
Dominic stopped reading.
He could not see the page.
Mia moved closer.
"Keep going."
He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.
Elena's final lines were shorter.
I wanted a life with you.
If there is any part of that life still possible through her, take it.
Not the money.
Not the name.
The mornings.
The school lunches.
The fevers.
The terrible drawings you have to pretend are beautiful.
Take all of it.
That is the life we lost.
Don't lose it twice.
Love always,
Elena
Dominic lowered the letter.
For years, he had ruled by fear because fear never abandoned him.
Now an eight-year-old girl put her hand inside his.
He looked at Mia.
"Your mother loved you very much."
Mia nodded.
"She loved you too."
Dominic's throat tightened.
"Yes."
"Then maybe she found us."
He stared at her.
"What?"
"The letter."
Mia shrugged.
"Maybe that's how."
May you like
Dominic closed his eyes.
For once, the man who controlled half a city had no better answer.
