Chapter 9 - THE HAPPY ENDING
Glass rained down around us.
The warehouse was a symphony of chaos, shouting, and gunfire.
I threw myself over Leo, my hands frantically pulling at the thick ropes binding his wrists and ankles.
"Close your eyes, Leo!" I screamed over the noise. "Don't look!"
He buried his face in my neck, sobbing.
I got the last knot free just as Frankie Russo lunged toward us, raising his shotgun.
"You little—"
A single shot rang out.
Frankie dropped the gun, his eyes wide. He collapsed backward onto the concrete.
Vincent stood ten feet away, holding a second gun he had hidden in an ankle holster.
The shooting abruptly stopped.
Vincent’s men flooded the warehouse, disarming Carlo’s remaining guards.
In the center of the room, Don Carlo was on his knees. He looked small. Defeated.
Vincent walked over to his father.
He didn't yell. He didn't gloat.
He simply looked down at the man who had created him and then tried to destroy him.
"You belong in a cage," Vincent said softly. "And this time, you will die in one."
Vincent turned away and walked toward me.
I was sitting on the floor, rocking Leo in my arms. The boy was safe. He was unharmed.
Vincent knelt beside us.
He reached out and gently rested his large, calloused hand on Leo’s head.
"You're a brave kid, Leo," Vincent said softly.
Leo looked up, sniffing. "Are the bad men gone?"
"They're gone," Vincent promised. "They will never come near your family again."
He looked at me. His dark eyes were softer than I had ever seen them.
"It's over, Grace."
The police sirens wailed in the distance. Vincent had tipped off the feds. Don Carlo was going back to maximum security, caught red-handed with illegal weapons and a kidnapped child.
Two days later.
The sun was shining brightly over Lake Michigan.
Leo was running across the lush green lawn of Vincent's lake house, chasing a golden retriever that belonged to one of the security guards.
His laughter drifted through the open windows.
He felt safe. He was loved. He was exactly where he belonged.
I sat on the porch, wrapped in a thick sweater.
Vincent walked out holding two mugs of coffee. He handed me one.
"Your father's name was cleared this morning," Vincent said, sitting in the chair next to mine. "The feds reopened the investigation. It's officially ruled a homicide. Uncle Sal and his mechanic buddies are being indicted."
Tears pricked my eyes. My father had died a hero, trying to protect us, trying to keep the monster's money out of circulation. He had regained his dignity in death.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"You saved my life, Grace," Vincent said. "You saved Leo. You don't owe me a thank you."
He reached into his pocket.
"By the way," he said. "The doctor retrieved this."
He handed me a small, sterilized evidence bag. Inside was the tiny golden bird.
"Keep it," Vincent said. "That money is blood money, but it belongs to you now."
I looked at the bird. Then, I looked at Vincent.
I opened the bag, took out the bird, and tossed it straight into the deep waters of the lake.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "That was fifty million dollars."
"I have everything I need," I said, looking out at Leo.
Vincent smiled. A real, genuine smile.
We sat in silence for a long time.
Then, Vincent sighed.
"There's only one thing I don't understand," he said, pulling an object from his coat pocket.
It was an old, tarnished locket.
"When we cleared out my father's safe this morning," Vincent said, his voice tightening, "I found this."
He opened the locket.
Inside was a picture of my mother.
Answer one: The war with Don Carlo was over.
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Open two: Why did the ruthless Mafia Don keep a picture of an elevator mechanic's wife next to his heart?
I stared at the photograph, the coffee mug slipping from my fingers and shattering on the porch.
