Chapter 6 - THE GHOST IN THE RAIN
The rain pounded against the rusted shipping containers.
The words echoed in my head, making the world tilt on its axis.
The children of the man who murdered your father.
Luca stood perfectly still. The gun in his hand didn't waver, but his eyes slowly moved from Don Bellini to me.
“What did you say?” Luca asked, his voice barely a whisper over the storm.
“Ask her,” Bellini taunted, leaning heavily on his silver cane. “Ask little Anna why her father dragged them out of the city twenty years ago. Why they changed their name to Miller. Why they suddenly came back to work in your house.”
I took a step back, slipping in the mud.
“He’s lying,” I choked out, tears mixing with the rain on my face. “My father was a baker. He died of a heart attack when I was twelve! We moved because we lost the house!”
“A baker?” Bellini laughed harshly. “His name was Carlo Rossi. He was my top enforcer. And twenty years ago, he planted the car bomb that killed Antonio Moretti.”
Luca’s breath hitched.
The father he had mourned. The father whose legacy he had built his entire empire upon.
Luca turned to me. His eyes were completely hollow.
“Anna,” he said. “Is it true?”
“No!” I screamed. I ran to Mark, dropping to my knees in the mud. I grabbed my brother’s tied hands, desperately tugging at the ropes.
Mark looked at me, his face bruised and panicked. He saw me crying.
What is happening? Mark signed awkwardly with his bound hands.
He says our father killed his father, I signed back, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
Mark’s eyes widened in horror. He vigorously shook his head.
Dad was a baker. He made bread. He never hurt anyone.
I looked up at Luca. “Mark says he’s lying, Luca. Please, you have to believe us.”
Bellini sneered. “The deaf boy is as ignorant as you. Carlo kept his family in the dark. But he kept trophies.”
Bellini pointed his cane at the silver woven bracelet in the mud.
“Your mother wore that bracelet every day. Look at the clasp, Luca.”
Luca didn't put his gun down, but he crouched and picked up the muddy bracelet. He wiped the silver clasp with his thumb.
Even in the dim light of the car headlights, I could see the engraving.
A.M.
Antonio Moretti.
“It was your grandmother’s bracelet,” Bellini said softly. “Carlo took it off Antonio’s body before the car burned. He gave it to his wife as an anniversary gift.”
Luca stared at the initials.
The gun in his hand slowly began to lower.
The betrayal was absolute. I had ironed his shirts. I had served him tea. I had just risked my life to save his nephew. And all along, I was wearing the blood of his father in my DNA.
Bellini’s guards saw Luca’s hesitation. They slowly began to raise their weapons again.
“Kill them all,” Bellini ordered softly. “Leave the bodies on the tracks.”
Before the guards could fire, a massive spotlight suddenly clicked on from the top of the shipping containers, blinding everyone in the yard.
A voice boomed through a megaphone, echoing like the wrath of God.
“DROP THE WEAPONS OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND!”
Bellini shielded his eyes. His guards panicked.
From the shadows of the rail yard, heavily armed men in tactical gear stepped out. They weren't police. They wore black jackets with a single red rose embroidered on the shoulder.
The Moretti family crest.
Luca hadn't come alone. He had called his men while I was getting the wrench.
Dozens of laser sights painted Bellini and his guards.
Bellini dropped his cane. His guards threw their guns into the mud and put their hands on their heads.
Luca stood up. He didn't look relieved. He just looked exhausted.
He walked over to Bellini.
“You think a twenty-year-old secret is going to save you today, old man?” Luca said quietly.
“It’s the truth, Luca,” Bellini spat.
“I know,” Luca said.
I froze. My brother stopped struggling against his ropes.
May you like
Luca turned to me, the muddy silver bracelet clutched in his fist.
“I’ve known who you were since the day you applied for the job, Anna.”
