Chapter 7 - THE WEDDING PLANNER
Patricia closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft, terrifying click.
She looked nothing like the nervous wedding coordinator from the night before. Her posture was rigid, her eyes dead and cold. The suppressor on the end of her pistol was long and black.
"Step away from the boy, Melissa," Patricia said. Her voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I shoved Mason behind me, shielding his small body with my own.
"Who are you?" I demanded, desperately trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Vito is downstairs with six men!"
"Vito is asleep," Patricia said calmly. "I laced the coffee in the kitchen twenty minutes ago. The security detail won't wake up for hours. Step away from Mason."
"No," I said, gripping the edge of the dresser behind me.
Mason was clutching the back of my apron, his breathing shallow and rapid. "Miss Melissa, I'm scared."
"How did you get in here?" I asked, stalling for time. My eyes darted around the room. The iron poker Vanessa had dropped last night was still resting near the fireplace, five feet away. Too far.
"I was hired by the Bellini family a year ago," Patricia explained smoothly. "My job was to infiltrate the household, act as the wedding planner, and ensure Vanessa's transition went smoothly. If Vanessa failed, my job was to clean up the mess."
"You're a hitman."
"I'm a fixer," she corrected. "Vanessa was a fool. Getting caught over a hallway light and a child's bracelet. But her father pays very well. And right now, he wants the only two loose ends tied up."
She raised the gun slightly, aiming it at my forehead.
"Your brother is already dead, Melissa. The Bellini hit squad caught him in an alley five minutes ago. Now, it's your turn. And then, the boy."
Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Michael was dead. My foolish, criminal brother who had dragged me into this nightmare was gone. But I wasn't going to let this woman touch Mason.
"If you kill Luca Moretti's son, there isn't a hole deep enough on this earth for you to hide in," I warned her. "He will hunt you down."
"Luca Moretti won't know I did it," Patricia smiled thinly. "He will find you dead, your brother dead, and his son gone. He'll assume the Rossis did it as revenge for the broken truce. It's a perfect frame job."
She cocked the hammer of the pistol. "Last chance. Move."
"No."
Patricia sighed. "Pity."
She pulled the trigger.
Click.
The gun didn't fire.
Patricia frowned, looking down at the weapon.
In that split second, I didn't think. I reacted.
I threw myself forward, grabbing the heavy silver picture frame from the dresser—the broken portrait of Elena—and smashed it directly into Patricia's face.
The glass shattered against her cheekbone. Patricia screamed, stumbling backward, dropping the jammed pistol.
"Mason, run!" I screamed.
Mason bolted for the door. I grabbed his hand and we practically flew out into the hallway, sprinting toward the grand staircase.
Behind us, Patricia recovered. "You stupid little maid!" she shrieked, pulling a secondary, smaller weapon from her ankle holster.
Crack!
A bullet slammed into the wooden banister right next to my hand, sending splinters flying.
I scooped Mason up, ignoring the burning in my lungs, and ran down the stairs. The house was a tomb. Patricia was right—the guards were unconscious. Vito was slumped over the kitchen island, his radio crackling silently.
"Out the back!" I told Mason, pushing him toward the kitchen service door.
We burst out into the cold morning air, running across the sprawling, manicured lawn toward the high stone walls of the estate.
"Where are we going?" Mason cried.
"We have to hide," I panted, looking over my shoulder. Patricia was coming out the back door, scanning the yard.
I dragged Mason toward the old, overgrown hedge maze at the edge of the property. Luca's grandfather had built it, and it was barely maintained anymore. It was dense, dark, and confusing.
We ducked into the thick greenery just as Patricia fired another shot. It clipped the leaves above our heads.
I pulled Mason deep into the center of the maze, crouching behind a stone bench.
I covered his mouth with my hand to muffle his heavy breathing.
Crunch. Crunch.
Patricia’s footsteps were entering the maze.
"You can't hide forever, Melissa," her voice echoed through the hedges, haunting and calm again. "There's only one way out of this maze."
I looked down at Mason. His eyes were wide with terror. I looked at the three wooden beads tied around my wrist.I promise to keep him safe.
I gently removed my hand from his mouth and leaned in close to his ear.
"Mason, listen to me," I whispered so softly it was barely breath. "When I say go, you run to the gardener's shed. Lock the door. Do not come out until you hear your father's voice. Do you understand?"
He shook his head furiously, tears spilling over. "No. She'll hurt you."
"I'm going to distract her," I promised. "I love you, buddy. Go."
I shoved him gently toward the back exit of the maze and stood up, stepping out into the open path.
Patricia was ten feet away. She smiled, raising her gun.
"How noble," she said.
Before she could pull the trigger, the roar of a massive engine tore through the air.
A black, armored SUV smashed straight through the iron gates of the estate, tearing across the lawn, tearing up the grass, and slammed violently into the outer wall of the hedge maze.
The impact sent debris flying everywhere.
Patricia stumbled, losing her balance.
The door of the SUV kicked open.
Luca Moretti stepped out. He held a tactical shotgun.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't ask questions.
He raised the weapon and fired.
Patricia’s body slammed backward into the hedges, and she didn't move again.
Luca racked the shotgun, his eyes scanning the chaos until he saw me standing there, shaking and covered in dirt.
He dropped the weapon and ran to me.
"Where is he?" Luca demanded, panic cracking his stoic facade. "Where is my son?"
"Daddy!"
Mason came running out of the gardener's shed. He launched himself into Luca's arms.
Luca fell to his knees on the wet grass, burying his face in his son's neck, holding him so tight I thought he might break him.
"I've got you," Luca sobbed, a sound I never thought I'd hear from the boss of Chicago. "I've got you."
I slumped against the stone bench, the adrenaline leaving my body all at once. We were safe.
But as Luca held his son, he looked up at me. His expression was grim.
"Melissa," he said quietly. "I opened the safe deposit box."
"What was inside?" I asked, my voice weak.
Luca reached into his jacket. He didn't pull out money, or jewelry, or blackmail photos.
He pulled out a small, child's drawing.
It was a crayon drawing of a family. A father, a mother, and a little boy.
But the mother’s face had been violently violently scribbled out with black ink.
"Elena didn't put this in the vault," Luca whispered. "Vanessa did. Because there was something hidden on the back."
He flipped the drawing over.
May you like
Taped to the back of the paper was a positive pregnancy test.
"Vanessa was pregnant three years ago," Luca said, his voice trembling. "With my child. Before Elena died."
