Chapter 3 - THE SILVER REVOLVER
The chandeliers seemed to dim as the tension in the room skyrocketed.
Guests screamed and scrambled backward, overturning heavy wooden chairs. Luca’s bodyguards immediately drew their weapons, aiming them squarely at my mother.
“Mom, no!” I screamed, pushing past Mrs. Carter. I ran and threw myself between the guards’ guns and my mother. “Please! Don’t shoot her!”
“Emma, move away,” Luca commanded, his voice slicing through the panic. His gun was drawn too, but he kept it lowered at his side.
My mother’s hands were shaking violently around the heavy silver revolver. She had always been a gentle woman—a hairdresser who brought me chicken soup and bought me soft cotton scarves. Seeing her holding a weapon felt like staring at a stranger.
“Mom, put it down,” I begged, grabbing her wet sleeve. “What are you doing here?”
“I came because I knew Vanessa would eventually recognize you,” my mother breathed, her eyes locked on Vanessa. “I saw her father’s car parked at the end of our street this morning. They’ve been watching us.”
Vanessa laughed nervously, though she took a slow step backward. “You’re insane, Mary. My father doesn't know who you are.”
“Your father is Marcus Bellini,” my mother spat. “And twenty-four years ago, he forced my husband to take the fall for a murder he committed.”
The room went completely still.
Luca took a slow, deliberate step forward. He signaled his men to lower their weapons, though they kept their hands on their holsters.
“Put the gun down, Mary,” Luca said calmly. “If you have something to say, I will listen. But if you fire that weapon in my home, I cannot protect you.”
My mother looked at Luca. Her lips trembled. She slowly lowered the revolver, placing it gently on the edge of the nearest table.
I collapsed against her, sobbing into her wet coat. She wrapped her arms around me, kissing the top of my pale-blue scarf.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” she whispered into my ear. “I tried to keep you safe. I tried to hide you.”
“I don't understand,” I choked out. “You told me Dad ran away because he didn't want us.”
My mother closed her eyes, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks.
“He didn't run away,” she said softly. “He went to a federal black site. He gave up his life so we could keep ours.”
She looked up at Luca.
“Arthur was the accountant for both families,” my mother explained, her voice echoing in the quiet room. “He found out Marcus Bellini was embezzling from the Moretti accounts. Marcus was stealing millions and blaming it on rival families. When your uncle caught Marcus red-handed, Marcus shot him.”
Vanessa crossed her arms. “A ridiculous lie to protect a thief.”
“Is it?” my mother challenged. She looked at Luca. “Your uncle didn't die instantly, did he, Luca? He survived for three hours in the hospital.”
Luca’s expression hardened. “Yes. He did.”
“And before he lost consciousness, he told your father that the shooter was wearing a custom gold Rolex. The kind only bosses wear. My husband couldn't afford a watch like that.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “The police found the murder weapon in your husband’s car, Mary. Arthur’s fingerprints were on it.”
“Because Marcus forced him to hold it!” my mother cried. “Marcus came to our apartment that night. He held a knife to Emma’s throat while she slept in her crib. He told Arthur that if he didn't take the fall, he would slaughter us both.”
A cold dread washed over me. I felt physically sick, my weakened body swaying. Luca immediately stepped forward and caught my arm, steadying me.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, though the room was spinning.
Luca looked at Vanessa. “Did your father frame Arthur Lawson?”
“She’s a crazy old woman!” Vanessa shouted, losing her composed socialite facade. “She’s trying to extort us! My father is a respected man on the Commission!”
My mother reached into the pocket of her wet coat. She pulled out a small, heavy object wrapped in a velvet cloth.
“Arthur knew Marcus would eventually come back to silence us,” my mother said. “So before he turned himself in, he stole something from Marcus’s safe. Insurance.”
She unwrapped the cloth.
Resting in her palm was a massive, blood-stained gold Rolex watch.
The back of the watch was engraved: To Marcus, for thirty years of power.
Vanessa gasped, covering her mouth.
Luca took the watch from my mother’s hand. He turned it over, his thumb tracing the dried blood that had been crusted in the links for twenty-four years.
“This is my uncle’s blood,” Luca said, his voice deadly quiet.
He looked up at Vanessa. The look in his eyes promised absolute destruction.
“Your father murdered my uncle. And he let an innocent man rot in a black site while I spent twenty years hunting ghosts.”
Vanessa stumbled backward toward the door. “Luca, please. I didn't know. I swear I didn't know.”
“You knew who Emma was,” Luca said, taking a step toward her. “That’s why you tortured her. That’s why you wanted her out of this house before I could discover her true name. You were protecting your father.”
“I was protecting my family!” Vanessa screamed, panic finally breaking her composure. “Just like you protect yours! If my father goes down, the entire Bellini syndicate falls!”
She turned and ran out the open dining room doors, her red dress flashing down the hallway.
Luca didn't chase her. He turned to his captain, a large man named Marco.
“Lock down the estate,” Luca ordered. “No one leaves. And prepare the cars. We are going to pay Marcus Bellini a visit.”
Before Marco could move, my mother suddenly grabbed her chest.
She let out a sharp, agonizing gasp and collapsed onto the hardwood floor.
“Mom!” I screamed, dropping to my knees beside her.
Her eyes rolled back, and her breathing became shallow, ragged gasps.
“Get a doctor!” Luca roared, kneeling beside us and checking her pulse. “Now!”
I held her head in my lap, sobbing hysterically. “Mom, please, stay with me. Please!”
She reached up, her trembling fingers brushing the edge of my pale-blue scarf.
“Emma,” she gasped, her face pale and sweaty. “I didn't... I didn't tell you everything.”
“Don't speak,” I cried. “Help is coming.”
“No, listen to me,” she forced out, her grip tightening on my arm with terrifying strength. “Your cancer... the clinic.”
I froze. “What about the clinic?”
My mother’s eyes filled with absolute terror.
“Vanessa didn't just want you fired, Emma. The clinic you go to... Marcus Bellini owns it. And the chemotherapy they’ve been giving you for the last three months...”
May you like
She coughed violently, a spot of blood appearing on her lips.
“It isn't medicine, Emma. They’ve been poisoning you.”
