Chapter 6 - THE SILVER ROSARY
The silver rosary felt like ice against my palm as we rode in the back of the SUV toward the estate.
I traced the small, smooth beads with my thumb, my mind racing.
My sister, Sofia, had prayed with this rosary every night when we were children. She believed it protected us.
It hadn't protected her from Carmine Moretti.
"I'm going," I said, breaking the heavy silence in the car.
Vincent sat across from me, his face a mask of furious concentration as he reviewed a tactical map on an encrypted tablet.
He didn't look up. "No, you aren't."
"He said to come alone, Vincent," I argued, leaning forward. "If he sees your men, he'll kill her."
Vincent finally raised his eyes. They were dark, stormy, and resolute.
"Carmine is a snake, Clara. He wants you there alone so he can put a bullet in your head the moment you hand over the Rossi claim. You are not walking into a slaughterhouse."
"She is a five-year-old girl!" I shouted, the fear finally bubbling over into anger. "She is my blood! I am not sitting in your mansion while she pays for our family's war!"
Vincent closed the tablet with a sharp snap.
"You think I don't know what it costs?" Vincent said, his voice dangerously low. "You think I don't care about that little girl? I raised her, Clara. For three years, while you were hiding in my house, I was the one reading her to sleep. I was the one checking under her bed for monsters. She is my daughter in every way that matters."
I froze.
The raw, bleeding emotion in Vincent’s voice stripped away the mob boss exterior entirely.
"You… you raised her?" I whispered.
"After the Romanos killed your sister, they left Mia in an orphanage in the slums to rot," Vincent confessed, looking away, his jaw tight. "I found her. I took her to Blackwood Island. I kept her a secret because I knew if Carmine found out, he would use her against me."
He looked back at me, his eyes softening just a fraction.
"And I kept you in my house because I couldn't bear to let the last piece of the Rossi family out of my sight. I have spent my entire adult life trying to fix the sins my uncle committed against your family."
A heavy, poignant silence filled the car.
I looked down at the massive diamond ring on my finger.
It wasn't just a tactical move. It was a promise.
"We do this together," I said softly, reaching out and placing my hand over his.
Vincent looked at our joined hands, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath.
"Together," he agreed.
By 11:00 PM, the plan was set.
Vincent wasn't going to let me go alone, but we couldn't bring an army either.
I wore a heavy, dark trench coat over a simple sweater and jeans. Underneath the coat, strapped tight against my ribs, was a Kevlar vest.
Vincent handed me a small, cold piece of metal.
"Safety is here," Vincent instructed, guiding my thumb over the small switch on the compact handgun. "Point and pull. Don't hesitate."
I tucked the gun into the pocket of my coat, my hands shaking slightly.
We drove to the abandoned shipyards on the edge of the city. The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy, suffocating fog rolling off the dark water.
Vincent parked the car a mile out. We walked the rest of the way in total silence.
The shipyard was a graveyard of rusted shipping containers and broken cranes.
In the center of the yard, under the harsh glare of a single, buzzing halogen light, stood Carmine Moretti.
He was leaning on his cane, looking perfectly relaxed.
Standing next to him, holding a terrifyingly large rifle, was Isabella Romano.
She looked nothing like the polished socialite from the dinner party. Her hair was pulled back, her face devoid of makeup, her eyes burning with a manic, desperate hatred.
And sitting on a wooden crate between them, her small hands bound with zip-ties, was Mia.
"Mia!" I gasped, taking a step forward.
Isabella immediately raised the rifle, aiming it directly at my chest.
"Not another step, maid," Isabella spat.
Vincent stepped smoothly in front of me, shielding me with his body.
"Let the girl go, Carmine," Vincent said, his voice carrying through the fog like thunder. "You want the throne? Take it. Leave them out of this."
Carmine laughed, a dry, rattling sound.
"Oh, Vincent. You always were too soft for this life," Carmine mocked. "I don't just want the throne. I want the bloodline eradicated. As long as a Rossi breathes, they are a threat to my claim."
"You promised a trade," I yelled, stepping out from behind Vincent.
"I lied," Carmine smiled.
Isabella cocked the rifle.
"Kill them both," Carmine ordered Isabella. "And then shoot the child."
Isabella's finger tightened on the trigger.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact.
But the gunshot that shattered the silence didn't come from Isabella's rifle.
It came from the darkness above us.
Isabella screamed, dropping the rifle as a bullet tore through her shoulder. She collapsed onto the wet concrete, clutching her arm in agony.
Carmine spun around in shock, searching the shadows.
"You brought snipers?!" Carmine roared at Vincent.
"No," Vincent said, genuinely confused, his own weapon drawn. "I didn't."
From the top of a rusted shipping container, a figure stepped into the edge of the halogen light.
It was a man in a dark tactical suit.
He dropped gracefully to the ground, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, a smoking pistol in his hand.
He walked slowly toward the light.
When I saw his face, the breath was knocked completely out of my lungs.
It was a face I had seen in a hundred nightmares. A face I had mourned for twenty years.
"Hello, Carmine," the man said, his voice a deep, gravelly echo.
Carmine staggered backward, his silver cane slipping on the wet concrete. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"Antonio?" Carmine whispered in absolute terror.
I stared at the man.
May you like
My father.
Antonio Rossi was alive.
