Chapter 8 - THE BULLET MEANT FOR A MOTHER
Vincenzo Moretti didn’t look like a dead man.
He looked sharp, cruel, and perfectly in control.
“I needed her thumbprint to open the biometric lock on the vault,” Vincenzo said, holding up the heavy, leather-bound ledger. “Now that I have the original syndicate files, I don’t need her anymore.”
Luca slowly stood up, placing himself squarely between his father’s gun and his mother.
“You’re not walking out of this room, old man,” Luca said softly.
Vincenzo laughed.
“Luca, I built this city. I own the police outside, I own the mayor, and I own you. You’re a smart boy, but you were never ruthless enough to kill your own blood.”
Vincenzo’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Move, Luca. Or I’ll shoot right through you to hit her.”
My heart pounded in my throat.
Luca didn’t have his gun. He had dropped it when he fell to his knees to hold his mother. It was lying near Marcus Bellini’s unconscious body, ten feet away.
I was standing near the bed.
My hand brushed against the first syringe.
The one Marcus had dropped. The Vecuronium Bromide. The paralytic.
It was still half-full.
I slid it into my palm, hiding it behind my skirt.
“You’re pathetic, Vincenzo,” Elena suddenly spoke.
Her voice was weak, but it carried thirty years of concentrated venom.
Vincenzo glared at her.
“I survived the fire you set,” Elena said, sitting up slightly. “I survived thirty years in a cage. And I will survive you.”
Vincenzo’s face twisted in rage.
He took one step closer, aiming the gun directly at her face.
“Die, Elena.”
“Hey!” I screamed.
Vincenzo’s eyes flicked to me for half a second.
It was all Luca needed.
Luca lunged forward, not going for Vincenzo’s gun, but tackling him around the waist.
The revolver fired, the bullet tearing into the ceiling, raining plaster down on us.
Both massive men crashed to the floor.
Vincenzo was older, but he was brutal. He smashed the heavy butt of the revolver into Luca’s wounded shoulder.
Luca roared in pain, his grip loosening.
Vincenzo scrambled to his feet, aiming the gun down at his own son’s chest.
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw myself across the room, driving the paralytic syringe directly into Vincenzo’s thigh.
I pushed the plunger down instantly.
Vincenzo yelled, backhanding me across the face.
I hit the floor hard, tasting blood.
Vincenzo aimed the gun at me.
“Stupid girl,” he spat.
He went to pull the trigger.
But his finger didn’t move.
Vincenzo looked down at his hand in confusion. The revolver slipped from his grip, hitting the carpet with a thud.
His knees buckled.
The high dose of the paralytic was working instantly.
Vincenzo collapsed backward like a felled tree, completely paralyzed, but perfectly conscious. His eyes rolled frantically, unable to even move his jaw.
Luca scrambled up.
He kicked the revolver away.
He stood over his father, his chest heaving.
“You’re right, Vincenzo,” Luca spat down at him. “I’m not ruthless enough to kill my own blood.”
Luca pulled out his phone.
“But the FBI has no problem locking you in a supermax prison for the rest of your miserable life.”
Luca dialed a number.
“Agent Harris. This is Luca Moretti. I have a gift for you. Room 412, Lakeshore Hotel. Bring cuffs.”
Luca hung up.
He turned around and walked over to me.
He knelt down and gently wiped the blood from my lip.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’m fine,” I breathed, leaning into his touch.
Luca helped me up, and together we walked over to Elena.
Elena looked at her son, then at me. She smiled, a real, radiant smile that stripped years off her face.
“You picked a good one, Luca,” she whispered.
Within ten minutes, the hotel was swarming with federal agents.
They hauled Vincenzo and Marcus Bellini away in stretchers, treating them like the garbage they were.
The paramedics loaded Elena onto a gurney, taking her to a secure, private hospital where she would finally be treated like a human being.
Luca and I stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, watching the ambulances drive away.
It was over.
The nightmare was finally over.
Luca turned to me.
He didn’t say a word. He just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, burying his face in my hair.
I hugged him back, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You saved my family, Emma.”
“We saved each other,” I said.
A week later, the sun was shining over the restored Moretti estate.
Elena was sitting on the back patio, breathing in the fresh air, a cup of tea in her hands. She looked healthier, stronger.
My mother, Sarah, was sitting right beside her. The two women who had survived hell together, finally free.
I was walking out with a tray of fresh pastries.
I wasn't wearing a housekeeper’s uniform anymore. I wore a simple, elegant sundress.
Luca walked out behind me, placing a hand on my lower back.
We set the tray down.
Elena smiled at us.
She reached out and took my hand to thank me.
But as she pulled my hand toward her, her sleeve pushed back, revealing a simple silver bracelet on my wrist.
Elena’s smile instantly vanished.
Her face went bone-white.
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“Emma,” Elena whispered, her voice trembling. “Where did you get that bracelet?”
TITLE: THE SILVER LINK TO A MURDERED FATHER
