Chapter 8 - THE GHOST OF CICERO
"She's alive," Nico breathed, staring at the child’s drawing. "Isabella is alive."
The kitchen went dead silent. Outside, the sirens of police cars responding to the chaos at my mother's shop began to wail in the distance.
"If your mother hid Leo to protect him from Carlo Rossi," I said, trying to piece the impossible puzzle together, "why wouldn't she hide Isabella with him? Why separate a mother and a newborn baby?"
Nico ran a hand over his face, pacing the length of the kitchen. "Because Isabella wasn't a Bellini by blood. She was a Rossi."
I gasped.
"Isabella was Carlo Rossi's estranged niece," Nico explained, his voice tight. "When she married my brother Matteo, it was supposed to bridge the families. But Carlo hated it. He felt Isabella betrayed her blood. When the fire happened, the Rossis claimed her body. We had a closed casket funeral. I never saw her."
"But if she survived..." Mrs. Alvarez whispered, clutching her rosary. "Why wouldn't she come back for her son?"
"Because she thought he was dead, too," Nico said, stopping dead in his tracks. "Look at the drawing."
He placed the paper on the counter. The stick figure of the woman was holding a tiny bundle wrapped in blue. But she was standing behind thick black bars.
"A prison?" I guessed.
Nico shook his head slowly. "Not a prison. An asylum."
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Get me the chief of staff at St. Jude's Psychiatric Center," he barked into the receiver. "Now."
While Nico made the call, I knelt down next to Leo. He looked exhausted, clutching the silver music box against his chest.
"Leo," I asked gently. "Do you remember the nice lady with the vanilla smell? Lucia?"
Leo nodded slowly.
"Did she ever take you to visit someone? Someone who lived in a big building with lots of doctors?"
Leo frowned, thinking hard. "We went to a big white house. But we couldn't go inside. We just stood in the garden. The lady would hold me up so I could look at a window really high up."
My heart broke. Lucia had been bringing Leo to the grounds of an asylum just so his mother could look down and see that her son was alive, while keeping them both safe from Carlo Rossi's assassins.
"She's there," Nico said, hanging up the phone. His dark eyes were blazing with a terrifying resolve. "Carlo Rossi had his own niece committed under a Jane Doe alias five years ago. He locked her away to keep her quiet about the fire."
"Mr. Bellini," one of the capos interrupted, stepping into the kitchen. "Bianca is awake. We have her restrained in the library. What do you want us to do with her?"
Nico’s jaw tightened. "Hold her. Call the Commission. Tell them I am invoking the Blood Rite. I want Carlo Rossi brought to the warehouse in one hour, or the Bellini family goes to war."
The capo nodded respectfully and left.
Nico turned to me. "Emma, I need you to stay here with Mrs. Alvarez and Leo. My men will guard the house."
"No," I said, standing up. "I'm going with you to St. Jude's."
"It's not safe, Emma. If Carlo finds out we know where Isabella is, he'll send a hit squad to the hospital."
"I don't care," I said firmly. "I started this by refusing to lie about a veil. I'm finishing it. Besides, Isabella has been locked in a psychiatric ward for five years believing her husband and child burned to death. If a dozen armed mobsters kick her door down, she'll be terrified. She needs a woman. Someone who can speak softly."
Nico stared at me for a long moment. The hardened mafia boss was completely disarmed by the truth in my words.
"You are incredible," he murmured softly.
Ten minutes later, we were speeding toward St. Jude’s on the outskirts of the city. Nico had three SUVs full of armed men following us.
When we pulled up to the imposing iron gates of the psychiatric facility, the security guard took one look at Nico’s convoy and immediately opened the gates.
We strode through the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the high-security ward. The head doctor was waiting, pale and sweating.
"Mr. Bellini," the doctor stammered. "I had no idea who she was. The Rossi family paid us very well to keep a Jane Doe comfortable—"
"What room?" Nico demanded, grabbing the doctor by his lapels.
"Room 412," the doctor choked out. "Top floor."
We took the elevator up. The silence was deafening. When the doors pinged open, we walked down the empty corridor.
Nico stopped in front of a heavy steel door with a small, reinforced glass window. He couldn't bring himself to look inside. His hands were shaking.
I gently touched his arm, stepping in front of him. I looked through the glass.
Sitting on a small, narrow bed was a woman in a grey institutional gown. She was terrifyingly thin, her dark hair streaked with premature gray. She was staring blankly at the wall, rocking slightly back and forth.
Around her neck, hung on a cheap piece of twine, was a heavy gold wedding band. Matteo’s ring.
"Unlock it," Nico commanded the orderly.
The door clicked open.
I stepped inside first. "Isabella?" I whispered.
The woman didn't move. Her eyes were hollow, completely broken by five years of medicated grief.
Then, Nico stepped into the room.
Isabella slowly turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Nico's face. Because Nico and his brother Matteo had been identical twins.
Isabella let out a shattered, agonizing scream. She scrambled backward against the wall, covering her face. "No! You're dead! You burned! You burned!"
"Isabella, no, it's me," Nico choked out, tears finally breaking through his stoic mask. "It's Nico."
"My baby!" she sobbed, burying her face in her knees. "My Leo is gone!"
I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and ran back out into the hallway. "Bring him up!" I yelled to the guards at the elevator. "Bring the boy up now!"
Two minutes later, the elevator doors opened. One of the capos was holding Leo.
I grabbed Leo's hand and led him into the room.
Isabella was still sobbing uncontrollably on the bed.
"Isabella," I said softly, kneeling down and pushing Leo gently forward. "Look who we brought."
Isabella slowly lowered her hands. Her hollow, broken eyes locked onto the seven-year-old boy.
She stopped breathing.
Leo looked at her, his little brow furrowed. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver music box. He held it out to her.
"Are you my mommy?" Leo whispered.
Isabella fell to her knees on the linoleum floor. She let out a cry that didn't sound human—a sound of pure, unadulterated salvation. She threw her arms around Leo, burying her face in his neck, sobbing his name over and over again.
Leo wrapped his small arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder.
Nico watched them, tears streaming down his face. He reached out and found my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.
"Thank you," Nico whispered, squeezing my hand tightly.
But our moment of peace was shattered by the shrill ring of Nico's phone.
He answered it, putting it to his ear. His face instantly went dead.
May you like
"What is it?" I asked, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.
"Carlo Rossi didn't go to the warehouse," Nico said, hanging up the phone. He looked at me, his eyes dark with murder. "He went to your mother's shop. And he just burned it to the ground."
