Chapter 7 - THE AMBUSH AT ELM STREET AND THE SILVER ROSARY
The armored SUV screeched to a halt on the wet pavement, inches from the bumper of the black van.
Before the vehicle even fully stopped, Luca threw his door open and stepped out into the pouring rain, his weapon drawn and leveled at the open front door of the house. Marco and three other armed guards poured out of the trailing car, fanning out across the small front lawn in a flawless tactical formation.
“Stay in the car, Nora,” Luca ordered over his shoulder, his voice brokering no argument.
But I couldn't stay. That was my home. The woman who raised me was in there.
I pushed my door open and stumbled out into the rain, ignoring the shouts of the guards.
“Mom!” I screamed, running past Marco toward the porch.
“Nora, get down!” Luca roared, grabbing my arm and pulling me roughly behind the thick oak trunk of a large tree in the front yard.
The moment he pulled me down, a deafening crack shattered the quiet suburban night.
A bullet splintered the bark of the oak tree exactly where my head had been a second before.
“Suppressed fire! From the second-floor window!” Marco yelled, returning fire instantly. His shots were deafening, shattering the upstairs bedroom window into a thousand sparkling pieces of glass.
I covered my ears, screaming in terror as the quiet street I had grown up on transformed into a warzone.
“They beat us here,” Luca snarled, pressing his back against the tree, checking his magazine. “Vanessa’s warning wasn't to Sarah to help her escape. It was a signal to her father’s hitmen that the house was compromised. They came to silence her before we could ask questions.”
“We have to save her, Luca!” I begged, grabbing his suit jacket with my good hand, tears streaming down my face. “Please! She’s sick! She can’t fight them!”
Luca looked at me. His dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second, acknowledging the terrified sister he had just discovered.
“I’m going to get her,” Luca promised.
He keyed the radio clipped to his collar. “Marco. Suppressing fire on the front. I’m going through the back door.”
“Copy that, Boss,” Marco barked.
A hail of bullets tore from Marco’s men, forcing the shooter in the upstairs window to duck.
Luca didn't hesitate. He broke cover, sprinting across the muddy yard with terrifying speed, disappearing around the side of the house toward the backyard.
I was left crouching behind the oak tree, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt.
The gunfire stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was even more terrifying.
I couldn't just sit there. I knew this house better than anyone. I knew every creaking floorboard, every blind spot.
Against every instinct of self-preservation, I crawled away from the tree and scrambled onto the front porch, pressing myself flat against the siding near the open front door.
I peeked inside.
The living room was trashed. The floral sofa was overturned, the coffee table smashed.
Standing in the center of the room was a large man in a black tactical jacket. He had a suppressed pistol in his right hand.
In his left hand, he held my mother by her hair.
Sarah Hayes was wearing her worn, pink bathrobe. Her face was bruised, her lip bleeding, but her eyes were fierce. She was fighting, scratching at the man’s thick forearm.
“Where are the original documents, you old hag?” the man growled, shaking her violently. “Arthur Bellini knows you kept proof of the baby’s bloodline. Where is it?!”
“I burned them twenty years ago!” Sarah spat, blood staining her teeth. “You’re too late!”
The man raised his pistol, pressing the barrel against her temple. “Then you have no use to us.”
“No!” I screamed, stepping into the doorway.
The hitman spun around in surprise, lowering the gun from Sarah’s head and pointing it directly at my chest.
“Well, well,” the man smirked. “The lost princess delivers herself.”
He squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The gun jammed.
Before the man could clear the chamber, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the kitchen hallway.
Luca Moretti didn't shoot. He moved like a ghost, closing the distance in absolute silence. He swung a heavy, cast-iron frying pan he had grabbed from the kitchen counter directly into the back of the hitman’s skull.
The sickening crack echoed in the living room. The massive man collapsed onto the carpet like a puppet with its strings cut, out cold.
Luca immediately dropped the pan and kicked the hitman’s gun across the floor.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing forward and throwing my arms around Sarah.
“Nora, oh my god, you’re safe,” Sarah wept, hugging me tight, burying her face in my shoulder. “I told you never to come back here if you saw black vans!”
“I had to come,” I sobbed, holding the woman who was my mother in every way that mattered.
Luca stepped forward, his gun lowered, but his eyes intensely focused on the older woman.
“Sarah Hayes,” Luca said softly.
Sarah looked up. She saw the tailored black suit, the dark swept-back hair, the unmistakable Moretti features.
“Luca,” Sarah whispered, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “You look exactly like your father.”
“My father left me a letter,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “He told me the grave was empty. He told me to find my mother. And tonight, I found out I have a sister.”
He looked at me, a profound, undeniable warmth in his eyes, before turning back to Sarah.
“Where is she, Sarah?” Luca pleaded. “Where is Teresa? Is she alive?”
Sarah closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry, Luca,” Sarah cried softly. “She’s gone.”
Luca froze. “Gone? You mean she’s dead?”
Sarah nodded, wiping her bleeding lip. “She survived the fire twenty-five years ago. Your father snuck her out and brought her to me. She was pregnant with Nora. But her lungs... the smoke inhalation from the fire caused permanent damage. She lived long enough to give birth to Nora in this house, but she passed away three days later.”
A heavy, crushing silence fell over the trashed living room.
Luca closed his eyes, bowing his head. He had chased a ghost tonight, hoping for a miracle, only to find the tragedy was real. But he had found something else instead. He opened his eyes and looked at me. He had lost a mother, but he had gained a sister.
“Your father was devastated,” Sarah continued, her voice trembling. “He couldn't bring Nora back to the estate. Arthur Bellini was hunting for Teresa’s body to confirm the kill. If he found out a baby survived, he would have slaughtered the child to end the Moretti bloodline.”
“So he paid you to raise her in secret,” Luca realized.
“Yes,” Sarah nodded. “He bought this house. He sent money every month. He told me to raise her as my own, to keep her completely away from the mafia life. He wanted her to have a normal, safe existence.”
“But the money stopped,” I realized aloud. “Five years ago. When I was twenty, the accounts dried up. That’s why we couldn't pay for your medical treatments. That’s why I had to go get a job as a maid at the estate!”
Sarah looked down, ashamed. “Your father died, Nora. When he died, the secret trust he set up for us was automatically frozen. I didn't know how to contact the family without exposing your identity. I didn't know who to trust.”
“You could have trusted Mr. Bell,” Luca said gently.
“I didn't know who was loyal!” Sarah argued fiercely. “So I kept quiet. And when you got that job at the mansion... I was terrified. But I couldn't stop you without explaining why.”
Luca nodded slowly, understanding the impossible choice she had faced.
He walked over and knelt beside us, placing a comforting hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“You protected her,” Luca said, his voice filled with absolute respect. “You raised my sister to be a good, brave woman. You honored my father’s wishes. The Moretti family owes you a debt we can never repay.”
“I don't want money, Luca,” Sarah wept. “I just want her safe.”
“She is safe,” Luca swore, looking at me. “Nobody will ever touch her again.”
Suddenly, the front door burst open.
Marco ran in, his weapon raised, his eyes scanning the room.
“Clear!” Marco yelled to the men outside. He looked at the unconscious hitman on the floor, then at Luca. “Boss, the shooter upstairs is dead. But we have a problem.”
“What is it?” Luca asked, standing up.
“I searched the shooter’s pockets,” Marco said, holding up a small, silver object. “I found this.”
Marco held out a heavy, ornate silver rosary.
Sarah gasped in absolute horror when she saw it.
“No,” Sarah whispered, her face draining of all color. “Where did he get that?”
“What is it?” Luca demanded.
“It’s Teresa’s rosary,” Sarah cried. “Your father gave it to me when she died. I kept it in a locked safe in my bedroom upstairs. It has the account numbers for the hidden Swiss trusts engraved on the back of the cross.”
“The hitman didn't get it from the safe,” Marco said grimly. “He got it from the man who broke into the safe before we arrived.”
May you like
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Arthur Bellini,” Marco said. “The neighbors said a silver Mercedes pulled away from the house five minutes before we got here. Bellini was here, Boss. He has the account numbers. He’s going to drain your father’s emergency funds tonight.”
