“STOP CUTTING HIS MEAT! HE'S NOT A BABY! IF THAT OLD MAN CAN'T FEED HIMSELF, HE CAN EAT IN THE KITCHEN!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 26-YEAR-OLD MAID IN FRONT OF FORTY-EIGHT BIRTHDAY GUESTS—BUT WHEN HIS 82-YEAR-OLD FATHER GRABBED THE MAID'S HAND AND WHISPERED, “SHE SAYS YOU'RE ASHAMED OF ME,” MARCO BELLINI SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS FORK.**

The terminal was dead silent except for the howling wind rattling the glass walls.

Marco stared at the man he had banished fifteen years ago. Antonio Bellini walked with a slight limp, leaning on a silver-tipped cane, but his presence was commanding enough to freeze the blood in my veins.

"Antonio," Frank whispered, tears springing to his eyes. "You came back."

"I never left, Frank," Antonio said gently. He looked at Marco, his expression heavy with decades of unspoken sorrow. "I just had to wait in the shadows until the rat exposed herself."

Elizabeth Whitmore backed away, her aristocratic composure finally shattering. "Victor, shoot him! I'll pay you double! Triple!"

Victor didn't flinch. He kept his gun aimed squarely at Elizabeth's chest.

"You can't buy loyalty, Elizabeth," Antonio said, stopping a few feet from her. "You thought you bought Victor thirty years ago to run down my sister-in-law. But Victor was my man. Always."

I gasped, looking at my landlord.

"Wait," Marco said, his voice tight with confusion. "If Victor was your man... why did he drive the car that killed my mother?"

Antonio closed his eyes, a look of profound agony crossing his face.

"He didn't," Antonio whispered. "Victor wasn't driving the car, Marco."

Elizabeth let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "Oh, this is rich! Tell him, Antonio! Tell your precious nephew the truth about his perfect family!"

Antonio ignored her. He looked directly at Marco.

"Victor was sent to intercept the hitman Elizabeth hired," Antonio explained, his voice trembling. "Victor was supposed to save your mother. But he arrived two minutes too late. The photo you have? That’s Victor paying off an informant after the crash to find out who ordered the hit."

Marco's hands fell to his sides. The Uncle he had hated, the man he thought had betrayed their family to the feds, had actually been trying to protect them all along.

"Then why did you take the blame?" Marco demanded, his voice breaking. "Why did you let me banish you?"

"Because Elizabeth had the DA in her pocket," Antonio said. "She had fabricated enough evidence to put you in federal prison for the rest of your life. The only way she agreed to destroy the evidence was if I took the fall for the cartel leaks and disappeared. I took the exile so you could have a life, Marco."

Marco covered his face, staggering back as if he'd been physically struck. Luca reached out and steadied his brother.

"How touching," Christina sneered, her terror suddenly morphing into vicious desperation. "A beautiful family reunion. But you're forgetting one thing."

Christina reached into her designer handbag.

Before anyone could react, she pulled out a small, silver handgun and aimed it directly at little Matteo.

"Nobody moves!" Christina shrieked, her hand shaking wildly. "I am not going to prison for you people! Drop your guns, or the kid dies!"

"No!" Luca screamed, diving in front of his son.

Victor and Antonio's men hesitated, their weapons still trained on Elizabeth, but unsure how to handle the hysterical woman threatening a child.

"Christina, put it down," Marco commanded, stepping forward slowly. "You don't want to do this."

"I wanted to be the wife of a boss!" Christina cried, tears ruining her makeup. "I spent eight months spoon-feeding a drooling old man for this family, and you threw me away like trash!"

Frank, who had been leaning against a pillar, suddenly stood up straight. The fog of the medication was gone, leaving only the fierce, protective father who had raised three boys on the tough streets of Brooklyn.

"You didn't feed me, Christina," Frank said quietly.

Christina glanced at him, her gun wavering for a fraction of a second.

That was all the distraction needed.

Frank reached out and grabbed the heavy metal stanchion used for the ferry line. With a strength that defied his eighty-two years, the old man swung the heavy base directly into Christina's wrist.

A sickening crack echoed in the terminal.

Christina screamed, dropping the gun.

But as the gun hit the polished floor, it discharged.

A deafening bang shattered the silence.

I felt a sudden, violent punch to my left shoulder. The force spun me around, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles.

"Emma!" my mother screamed.

Marco dove toward me, his hands instantly pressing against my shoulder.

I looked down. A massive bloom of bright red blood was spreading across my cheap wool coat.

"I got you," Marco yelled, his voice thick with panic. "Press down! Emma, look at me!"

The terminal erupted into chaos. Victor and the men tackled Elizabeth and Christina to the ground, zip-tying their wrists. Luca was shielding Matteo, and Frank dropped to his knees beside me, his steady hands pressing over Marco's to stop the bleeding.

"You saved my grandson," Frank wept, looking at my pale face. "Hold on, sweetheart. Please hold on."