Chapter 12 - FAMILY TIES
"Sal has him."
I showed Vincent the screen. The town car swerved violently as Vincent took a corner at seventy miles an hour, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would crack.
"Call the house," Vincent barked.
I dialed the landline. It rang twice before it was picked up.
"Hello, Grace," Uncle Sal’s voice was smooth, cultured, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"If you hurt him, I will kill you myself," I said. The tremor in my voice was gone. I wasn't just a waitress anymore. I was a Moretti.
Sal chuckled. "You found out, then. Good. Saves me a monologue. Carlo always favored your mother. It sickened me. I built this empire with him, and he planned to leave the retirement fund to a bastard girl who served drinks."
"Where is he, Sal?" Vincent yelled toward the phone.
"Your lake house is lovely, Vincenzo. I think we'll just wait for you here. Come quickly. The boy has asthma, doesn't he? He seems to be having trouble catching his breath in the basement."
The line clicked dead.
We reached the lake house in twenty minutes.
The iron gates were wide open.
Vincent slammed the brakes. We didn't bother pulling into the driveway.
We jumped out. Vincent handed me a heavy, cold revolver.
"Safety is off. Point and pull," he instructed.
"I've never shot a gun."
"You have our father's blood," Vincent said grimly. "You'll figure it out."
We moved toward the house. The front door was ajar.
Inside, it was silent.
Too silent.
We cleared the living room. Empty.
We moved toward the basement door.
"I'll go first," Vincent whispered.
He kicked the door open and took the stairs fast. I was right behind him.
The basement was a large, unfinished concrete room.
In the center, Sal was standing behind Leo. He had a gun pressed to the boy's head.
Three of Sal's men stood in the shadows, their weapons trained on us.
"Drop them," Sal ordered.
Vincent froze. He lowered his gun to the floor.
I kept mine raised, my hands shaking so hard the barrel traced figure eights in the air.
"Grace, put it down," Vincent warned quietly.
"No." I stepped forward. "Let him go, Sal. You want the money? I have the routing numbers. I memorized them."
It was a lie. I had thrown the bird into the lake. But Sal didn't know that.
Sal smiled greedily. "Write them down."
"Let the boy walk up the stairs. When I hear the front door close, I'll write them down."
Sal hesitated. Greed won.
He shoved Leo forward. "Go, kid."
Leo ran to me, grabbing my leg.
"Run to the car, Leo. Hide in the trunk," I whispered.
Leo scrambled up the stairs. I heard the heavy front door slam.
"Now," Sal said, raising his gun toward my chest. "The numbers."
"The numbers are at the bottom of the lake," I said.
Sal's face twisted in fury. "Kill them both!"
But before Sal's men could fire, Vincent reached into his coat and pressed a small detonator button.
BOOM.
The charge he had set on his own electrical panel upstairs blew, plunging the basement into absolute darkness.
Gunshots flashed like lightning in the pitch black.
I threw myself to the floor, covering my ears.
I heard groans, the thud of bodies hitting the concrete, and the sickening crunch of bone.
Vincent moved in the dark like a ghost. He was born for the shadows.
Thirty seconds later, the backup emergency lights flickered on.
Sal's three men were on the ground, incapacitated.
Sal was pinned against the concrete wall, Vincent's forearm pressed against his throat.
Vincent didn't shoot him.
He looked at me.
"He's family," Vincent panted, his eyes locking with mine. "He's our blood. In this world, we handle family together."
I stood up slowly. I walked over to the man who had ordered my father's death, who had terrified my nephew, who had tried to steal my life.
I looked into Sal's terrified eyes.
"You aren't my family," I said coldly. "Thomas Mercer was my family."
I raised the heavy handle of the revolver and brought it down hard on Sal's temple.
He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Vincent looked at me, a slow, proud smile spreading across his bruised face.
"Not bad for a waitress."
We walked upstairs and out into the sunlight.
Leo was waiting by the car, holding the golden retriever's collar.
I picked him up, hugging him so tightly he squeaked.
"Are we going home, Aunt Grace?" he asked.
I looked at Vincent. My brother. The Mafia Boss.
"We are home, Leo," I said. "We're exactly where we're supposed to be."
Vincent stood beside us, looking out over the water.
The secrets were out. The debts were paid.
But as I looked down at the driveway, I noticed a sleek black car idling at the end of the road.
A window rolled down, and a woman with striking blonde hair—hair exactly like my mother's—stared at us from the backseat.
Before I could speak, the car sped away.
Vincent hadn't seen her.
But I had.
Answer one: My mother was Carlo's mistress.
May you like
Open two: Was she really dead?
I squeezed Leo's hand, took a deep breath, and prepared for whatever came next.
