Chapter 8 - THE SYRINGE ON THE STAIRS
Evelyn slowly descended the grand staircase.
Her usual composed, professional caregiver demeanor was gone. Her eyes were wide, manic, and filled with decades of suppressed hatred.
“How did you get out?” Adrian demanded, his hand moving to his holster.
“Peter,” Evelyn smiled. “He always was a coward. He unlocked the cellar to save himself, hoping I would take the fall. I killed him with a wine bottle before I came upstairs.”
Nora pulled Caleb behind her, shielding him.
Sarah aimed her revolver at Evelyn.
“Stop right there, Evelyn. Or I’ll put a hole in your chest.”
Evelyn didn't stop. She kept walking down the steps, holding the syringe up to the light.
“Go ahead, Sarah. Shoot me. But if you do, your precious children will never make it out of Chicago.”
Evelyn reached the bottom step.
“I didn't just work for the Rossis. I work for the Commission now. And they have a sniper trained on this foyer right now.”
Adrian’s guards instantly moved to block the windows.
“You’re bluffing,” Adrian said.
“Am I?” Evelyn laughed. “Your father promised me everything, Adrian. He promised to leave Teresa. He promised I would be the Queen of this city. But he got scared. He chose his reputation over me.”
She looked at Teresa with pure venom.
“So I made sure he died of a 'heart attack'. And I made sure your mother suffered in silence inside her own body.”
Teresa stared back at her, her eyes burning with defiance.
“And now,” Evelyn said, turning her manic gaze to Caleb. “I'm going to finish what the Rossis started. The Falcone bloodline ends tonight.”
She lunged toward Nora and Caleb with the syringe.
Sarah pulled the trigger.
Click.
The gun jammed. Water from the rain had soaked the old firing mechanism.
Evelyn laughed and grabbed Nora by the hair, pulling her backward and pressing the lethal needle directly against the young maid’s jugular vein.
“Drop the weapons!” Evelyn screamed at the guards. “Drop them, or the girl dies!”
Adrian raised his hands.
“Stand down,” he ordered his men.
The guards slowly lowered their guns.
Nora gasped, feeling the sharp tip of the needle pricking her skin.
Caleb let out a panicked cry, reaching for his sister.
“Stay back, freak!” Evelyn hissed at the boy.
That was her final mistake.
Nora Ellis had spent her entire life protecting her brother from bullies, from poverty, and from the cruelty of the world. She had stepped in front of a gun for a paralyzed old woman.
She wasn't going to let a bitter murderer call her brother a freak.
Nora didn't wait for Adrian to save her.
She slammed the heel of her heavy work shoe down onto Evelyn’s foot with all her strength.
Evelyn shrieked in pain, her grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
Nora threw her head backward, headbutting Evelyn squarely in the nose.
Blood sprayed. The syringe dropped to the marble floor, shattering.
Adrian moved like lightning.
He tackled Evelyn to the ground, pinning her arms behind her back.
He drove his knee into her spine.
“You are done,” Adrian snarled. “You will rot in a hole so deep the Commission won't even find your bones.”
Evelyn sobbed, her broken nose bleeding onto the pristine marble floor.
Adrian’s guards rushed forward, dragging Evelyn away.
Nora collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily.
Caleb threw his arms around her, hugging her so tightly it hurt.
Sarah dropped the jammed revolver. She fell to her knees beside her children, wrapping her arms around both of them, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I'm sorry,” Sarah cried. “I'm so sorry I lied to you. I just wanted to keep you safe.”
Nora hugged her mother back.
“We are safe now, Mom. It's over.”
Adrian stood up. He looked at the family reunited on the floor.
He looked at his mother in her wheelchair.
Teresa was smiling. A real, genuine smile.
Adrian walked over to Sarah.
He reached down and gently helped her to her feet.
“You don't have to run anymore, Sarah,” Adrian said softly. “You are a Falcone. This is your home. Nobody will ever hunt you again.”
Sarah looked at him. The fear that had ruled her life for fifteen years finally began to fade.
She nodded slowly.
It was the happy ending they all deserved. The traitors were exposed. The truth was out. The family was whole.
But as the adrenaline faded and the house finally grew quiet, the heavy oak doors opened one last time.
An old man in a black trench coat stepped into the foyer.
He walked slowly, using a silver-tipped cane.
He ignored the armed guards. He ignored the blood on the floor.
He walked straight up to Adrian.
It was Don Carmine, the Head of the Chicago Commission.
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“Adrian,” the old man rasped. “We have a problem.”
TITLE: THE HEAD OF THE COMMISSION
