The Burnt Edge of a Mother’s Letter

“You won’t make it out of this room,” Luca said.

His voice was eerily calm through the floor vent. There was no fear. Just the chilling certainty of a predator.

“I already have,” Tomaso laughed. “Marco is bleeding out in the kitchen. The guards outside think you’re asleep. I walk out the back door, and by morning, the Commission will hear how the grief-stricken Luca Moretti finally lost his mind and took his own life.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Tomaso.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I’m not my father.”

The sound of the gunshot was deafening.

I screamed, clapping my hands over my ears. Lily jolted awake, crying out in terror. I scrambled to the bed and pulled her into my arms, rocking her tightly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted, though my own tears were falling.

Below us, there was the heavy sound of a body hitting the floor. Then, complete silence.

I waited for footsteps on the stairs. I waited for the handle to turn.

Two minutes passed.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

“Claire.”

It was Luca.

I practically tore the deadbolt open.

Luca stood in the doorway. There was a smear of blood on his white shirt, but he was uninjured. His gun was holstered.

He looked at Lily, who was trembling in my arms.

“It’s over,” he said softly. “For real this time.”

He walked over and sat on the bed, pulling Lily into his lap. He didn’t try to hide what had happened. He treated her not like a fragile child, but like a Moretti.

“A bad man came into the house,” Luca told her gently. “But he’s gone now. He will never come back.”

“Are you hurt, Daddy?” she asked, touching the blood on his shirt.

“No, little bird. I’m perfectly fine.”

He looked at me over her head.

“Marco is alive,” Luca said quietly to me. “Tomaso shot him, but it missed the artery. The paramedics are here.”

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for hours. “And Tomaso?”

Luca’s eyes hardened for a fraction of a second. “Handled.”

He stood up. “Pack a bag for both of you. We aren’t staying in this house tonight. Or ever again.”

I looked around the beautiful, sprawling mansion. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Luca said. “To a place where there are no ghosts.”

By dawn, we were on a private jet heading toward the Amalfi Coast.

Luca had quietly stepped down from the head of the family, handing the reins to a trusted captain. The empire was no longer his concern. His only concern was the little girl sleeping peacefully in the wide leather seat next to him.

I sat across from them, watching the sunrise paint the clouds in brilliant shades of pink and gold.

Luca leaned forward and handed me something.

It was the old, scratched silver flip phone.

“You can throw it away now,” he said softly.

I looked at the phone, then at him. “Are you sure?”