Chapter 6 - THE SHOT ON THE PIER
Rosa hit the concrete.
Isabella fired once.
Adrian’s gun spun from his hand.
Luca and two men tackled him before he could reach it.
For a second, Isabella saw nothing except Rosa on the ground.
“ROSA.”
She dropped beside her.
Rosa’s eyes were open.
“I’m okay.”
Isabella stared.
Blood?
None.
The bullet had torn through the sleeve of Rosa’s uniform but missed her arm.
Rosa started laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes terror escaped the body through whatever door it could find.
Isabella grabbed her shoulders.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Isabella pulled her into a fierce embrace.
Rosa froze.
Then hugged her back.
Across the pier, Adrian fought against Luca.
“Get off me!”
Carlo walked toward his son.
Nobody stopped him.
Adrian looked up.
“Dad.”
Carlo struck him once across the face.
Not with a fist.
Open hand.
The sound carried farther than the gunshot.
Adrian stared.
Carlo said quietly, “That is for the child.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“You’re choosing them?”
“I’m choosing what remains of my honor.”
“You never had any.”
Carlo absorbed that.
Then stepped away.
Police moved in.
Adrian laughed.
“You think prison stops this?”
Isabella stood.
“No.”
“What stops it?”
She looked around the pier.
“At this point?”
She nodded toward thirty armed men from two families standing together.
“Embarrassment.”
Adrian’s smile vanished.
“You built a war nobody came to.”
He was handcuffed.
Eric Vale surrendered.
Four other men ran.
Two were caught before reaching the truck gate.
One vanished into Red Hook.
The other made the mistake of trying to steal Luca’s car.
By 11:27, the pier was secured.
But Marco remained inside the container.
Rosa remembered first.
“Marco.”
Isabella ran.
They found him slumped against the chair.
His skin had gone gray.
A paramedic cut the ropes.
“Gunshot wound, lower abdomen. Blood pressure dropping.”
Marco opened his eyes.
“Boss.”
Isabella crouched.
“You look terrible.”
He smiled weakly.
“You always were charming.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You would’ve confronted Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
She almost argued.
Couldn’t.
“You gave the key to Mateo.”
“Kid’s smart.”
“You terrified him.”
“I know.”
His eyes closed.
Isabella touched his shoulder.
“Stay awake.”
Marco opened one eye.
“Ordering me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Paramedics lifted him.
As they carried him toward the ambulance, Marco caught her wrist.
“Anthony isn’t the last one.”
Isabella went still.
“What?”
“There’s one more.”
“Who?”
His face tightened from pain.
“I don’t know.”
“Marco.”
“Adrian never gave me the name.”
“Caruso or Russo?”
Marco whispered:
“Inside your house.”
Then the paramedics moved him away.
Isabella stood frozen.
Inside your house.
Rosa heard.
So did Luca.
The engagement dinner had exposed Adrian.
The pier had exposed Anthony.
But someone still inside Isabella’s home had helped.
Someone close enough to know schedules.
Keys.
Security rotations.
Someone Adrian protected so carefully Marco never learned the name.
Luca said, “We go back.”
Isabella looked at Rosa.
“First, Mateo.”
They reached the secure warehouse minutes later.
The moment the door opened, Mateo ran.
“Mom!”
Rosa dropped to her knees.
He crashed into her arms.
“You’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“I heard a gun.”
“I know.”
“I thought—”
“I know.”
Rosa held him tightly.
Isabella turned away.
She had watched men reunite after prison.
Families after war.
Brothers after years.
Nothing compared to a frightened child finding his mother alive.
Mateo pulled back.
Then looked at Isabella.
“You promised.”
She nodded.
“I did.”
“You found her.”
“We both did.”
He frowned.
“I stayed in the car.”
“Sometimes staying where you’re supposed to is extremely helpful.”
Rosa laughed through tears.
Mateo suddenly wrapped his arms around Isabella too.
She went completely still.
Nobody hugged Isabella Caruso without warning.
Not even family.
She looked helplessly at Rosa.
Rosa smiled.
“Apparently you’re part of it.”
Isabella slowly placed one hand on the boy’s back.
Something unfamiliar moved in her chest.
Warm.
Painful.
Dangerous.
Family.
By 2:00 p.m., they returned to the townhouse.
Sofia had insisted on coming.
Vincent too.
Carlo returned to New Jersey to stabilize his family before rumors could do what Adrian’s bullets had failed to accomplish.
Isabella walked room by room.
Who had access?
Housekeepers.
Kitchen staff.
Security.
Drivers.
Her mother’s nurse.
Garden staff.
Twenty-three people.
Luca reviewed door logs.
One name appeared repeatedly around unusual times.
Teresa Walsh.
Isabella frowned.
“My mother’s nurse?”
Luca nodded.
Fifty-four.
Employed for three years.
No disciplinary issues.
No financial problems.
Widowed.
One adult daughter in Boston.
“She had access to the service hall,” Luca said.
“She also knew Sofia’s schedule.”
“And Vincent’s appointments.”
Isabella’s stomach tightened.
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs.”
They found Nurse Walsh in Isabella’s mother’s sitting room.
She was helping the older woman drink tea.
Mrs. Caruso looked up.
“Isabella?”
The nurse smiled.
“Everything all right?”
Isabella closed the door.
“No.”
The smile faded.
Luca stepped forward.
“Empty your pockets.”
Mrs. Caruso looked alarmed.
“What is happening?”
The nurse stood.
“I don’t understand.”
Isabella stared at her.
“Neither did I.”
Nurse Walsh reached into her pocket.
Slowly.
Then threw the teacup at Luca.
It shattered against his face.
She ran.
Isabella chased.
Down the hall.
Across the landing.
The nurse moved faster than expected.
She reached the back stairs.
Vincent came up from below.
She stopped.
Turned.
Sofia blocked the other end.
Nurse Walsh laughed breathlessly.
“Family reunion.”
Isabella approached.
“Why?”
The woman looked at her.
“You really don’t know who I am.”
“No.”
“My name isn’t Teresa Walsh.”
She reached beneath her collar and pulled out a chain.
A photograph hung from it.
A young man.
Twenty-five, maybe.
Isabella recognized the face.
Her blood chilled.
Daniel Vescari.
Killed eleven years earlier during the war that had made Isabella head of the family.
She looked at the woman.
“Your son.”
Nurse Walsh’s eyes filled.
“You killed him.”
“He tried to murder Vincent.”
“He was twenty-four.”
“He had a gun.”
“He was my son.”
Isabella understood.
This had not begun with Adrian.
Adrian had simply found an old wound.
“You helped him for revenge.”
The woman laughed bitterly.
“I helped him because he promised to erase the Caruso name.”
Mrs. Caruso appeared behind Luca.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
The older woman walked slowly into the hallway.
“You worked in my home.”
Teresa looked at her.
“You treated me well.”
“I trusted you.”
“My son trusted yours once.”
Mrs. Caruso’s face changed.
“My husband ordered Daniel’s death.”
Isabella looked at her mother.
“What?”
Her mother continued.
“Not Isabella.”
Teresa froze.
Mrs. Caruso’s voice trembled.
“Her father gave the order before he died. Isabella carried it out because she had inherited a war he created.”
Teresa’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She killed him.”
“She was twenty-four.”
That landed.
Teresa stared at Isabella.
For eleven years, she had constructed a monster.
Now the monster was standing in front of her looking tired.
Human.
Isabella said, “I won’t ask you to forgive me.”
Teresa swallowed.
“You shouldn’t.”
“No.”
“But Adrian used your grief.”
Teresa laughed bitterly.
“I used his ambition.”
“Then where is the last attack?”
The woman’s expression changed.
Small.
Enough.
“What attack?”
Isabella stepped closer.
“Adrian said I die tonight.”
Teresa looked toward Mrs. Caruso.
Isabella saw it.
Not the mother.
The house.
“What did you do?”
Teresa said nothing.
Luca grabbed her.
“What did you do?”
Her eyes filled.
Then she whispered:
“The furnace.”
May you like
Rosa, standing at the far end of the hallway, suddenly smelled it.
Gas.
