Chapter 9 - The Blue Sweater In The Cabin
The world instantly tilted.
A cold, heavy numbness rushed through my veins, starting at my neck and flooding down into my chest.
I tried to scream, but my vocal cords felt paralyzed.
“Rachel!” Noah shrieked, unbuckling his seatbelt and lunging toward me.
The flight attendant easily grabbed the nine-year-old boy by the back of his navy sweater and shoved him back into his seat.
“Sit down and shut up,” she hissed, pulling a zip-tie from her pocket.
I fought the drug with every ounce of willpower I possessed. My vision was blurring, the edges of the cabin turning dark, but the maternal instinct roaring in my blood refused to let me sleep while my child was in danger.
I couldn't move my arms. The gunshot wound throbbed violently.
But I could still move my legs.
As the woman leaned over to tie Noah’s hands, I kicked out with all my strength.
My heavy boot connected squarely with the side of her knee.
There was a sickening pop.
The woman screamed in agony, collapsing onto the aisle floor.
“Noah!” I slurred, the drug pulling me under. “Run! The cockpit!”
Noah didn't freeze.
The boy who had survived foster care, who had survived a car crash, didn't wait for permission.
He scrambled over the seat, grabbed the heavy glass of water the woman had brought, and smashed it directly over her head as she tried to stand up.
She slumped to the floor, unconscious.
I slumped sideways against the window, my eyes rolling back.
“Rachel!” Noah cried, grabbing my face. “Wake up! Please!”
“Call… Daddy…” I whispered, darkness finally taking me.
When I forced my eyes open again, the cabin was spinning.
My head pounded rhythmically. I was lying across two seats, a blanket thrown over me.
I blinked slowly, trying to focus.
The first thing I saw was Marco.
The massive head of security was standing over the unconscious flight attendant, securing her wrists with heavy plastic cuffs.
Then, I heard a voice.
A deep, frantic, beautiful voice.
“Rachel.”
Luca was kneeling beside me. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror. He was holding my hand so tightly my fingers ached.
“Luca?” I croaked.
“I’m here,” he breathed, burying his face in my neck. “Thank God. I’m here.”
I struggled to sit up. “How… how are you here? The plane…”
“Noah,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion.
I looked past Luca’s shoulder.
Noah was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, wearing a massive pair of aviation headphones. He looked completely terrified, but incredibly brave.
“He locked the cockpit door from the inside,” Luca explained, wiping a tear from my cheek. “He told the pilots if they didn't turn the plane around, he was going to start pushing buttons.”
A weak, hysterical laugh bubbled out of my chest.
“He also used the emergency radio to contact the tower,” Luca continued, smiling proudly. “He told them his dad was Luca Moretti, and that they needed to land immediately. The tower patched him through to Marco.”
I looked at the little boy in the oversized headphones.
“He saved us,” I whispered.
“He did,” Luca agreed.
The plane had landed safely back in Chicago. Federal agents were waiting on the tarmac, not to arrest Luca, but to take custody of the Bellini operative who had infiltrated the flight crew.
Luca helped me sit up. My shoulder throbbed, and the drug still made me groggy, but I was alive.
Noah took off the headphones and ran out of the cockpit.
He threw his arms around my waist, burying his face in my stomach.
“I was so scared, Rachel,” he sobbed.
“You were so brave, sweetie,” I cried, kissing the top of his head. “You are the bravest boy in the world.”
Luca wrapped his massive arms around both of us, holding us together in a fierce, unbreakable embrace.
“I am never letting you two out of my sight again,” Luca swore.
The FBI investigation into Vanessa’s claims unraveled quickly.
The Bellini operative confessed to the attempted kidnapping on the plane, securing a massive federal charge against Vanessa. The Commission, eager to distance themselves from the scandal, handed over evidence proving Vanessa had fabricated the money laundering claims.
The charges against Luca were dropped.
Two weeks later, the Moretti mansion was quiet again.
It was a Sunday morning. The sun was shining through the massive windows of the kitchen.
I wasn't wearing a black uniform.
I was wearing comfortable jeans and one of Luca’s oversized sweaters.
I was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes.
Noah was sitting at the kitchen island, swinging his legs, covered in flour.
“You put too much chocolate chips in yours, buddy,” I laughed, setting a plate in front of him.
“There’s no such thing as too much chocolate chips,” Noah declared, grabbing his fork.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Luca walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his dark hair messy from sleep.
He didn't look like a mafia boss.
He looked like a father.
He walked up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured.
“Good morning,” I smiled, leaning back against him.
Luca looked over my shoulder at Noah.
“How are the pancakes, buddy?”
Noah took a massive bite, his eyes lighting up.
He chewed happily, then swallowed.
He looked at Luca. Then he looked at me.
And he said the word I had waited my entire life to hear.
“They’re perfect,” Noah smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
I froze. The spatula slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the stove.
Tears instantly flooded my eyes.
Luca tightened his grip around my waist, kissing my cheek as a tear slid down my own face.
“You’re welcome, my sweet boy,” I choked out, a massive smile breaking across my face.
The dark legacy of the Chicago syndicate would always exist outside these walls. The empire would require protecting.
But inside this house, under this roof, there were no bosses. There were no maids.
May you like
There was only a mother, a father, and a son.
And we were finally, truly home.
