Chapter 7 - THE NECKLACE
The guests screamed, scrambling further under the tables. Rosa stood her ground, but I stepped in front of her, pushing her and Leo behind the thick mahogany sideboard.
“Where’s Vincenzo?” Marcus barked, his eyes sweeping the chaotic room.
Then he saw the broken glass doors and Dante standing on the patio, bleeding but holding Vincenzo’s gun.
Marcus leveled his weapon at the glass, aiming straight at Dante.
“No!” I screamed.
I didn’t have a weapon. But I had the USB drive in my left hand, and my eyes were locked on the silver necklace dangling from Marcus’s fingers. My mother’s necklace. The one she had given me, which I kept in my locker downstairs.
He had gone through my things. He knew who I was.
“I have the drive, Marcus!” I yelled, stepping out from behind the sideboard. I held the small black USB up high. “I have the audio! The proof that you and Vincenzo sabotaged the construction site and killed Nico!”
Marcus froze. He looked at me, then at the drive.
“Toss it here, girl,” Marcus snarled.
“Or what?” I challenged, my voice shaking so hard it almost cracked. “You kill me like you tried to kill my father? Because if you shoot Dante, the police get this drive. If you shoot me, Dante kills you.”
It was a bluff. A desperate, terrifying bluff.
But it bought Dante exactly two seconds.
Dante kicked the shattered French doors open, raising his weapon and firing a warning shot into the ceiling.
“Drop them!” Dante roared, his voice echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. “It’s over, Marcus! Vincenzo is done. If you shoot, you die next.”
Marcus looked at Dante, bleeding but unyielding, and then down at the unconscious Vincenzo on the patio. The loyalty in the mafia only extends as far as the winning side.
Marcus slowly lowered his shotgun. The other two men followed suit, placing their weapons on the floor and kicking them away.
Dante kept his gun raised as he walked slowly back into the dining room. He looked exhausted, his face pale from blood loss, but he commanded the room with absolute authority.
“Bind their hands,” Dante ordered the remaining loyal footmen, who were finally stepping out of the shadows.
Dante walked over to where I was standing. He dropped heavily into a chair, wincing as he clutched his shoulder.
Leo peeked out from behind my apron. He looked at Dante, then slowly reached out a small hand and touched Dante’s uninjured arm.
Uncle hurt? Leo signed.
Dante’s eyes softened. He reached out with a bloody hand and gently cupped the boy’s cheek.
“I’m okay, piccolo,” Dante said softly.
Then, Dante looked at Isabella. She was backed into a corner, trembling, clutching her ruined dress.
“Isabella,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You blackmailed my brother’s killer to fund your lifestyle. You let the father of this boy die so you could wear my ring.”
“I was terrified, Dante!” she sobbed.
“You are poison,” Dante said simply. “And you will never step foot in this state again.”
Dante turned to one of his loyal men. “Put her in a car. Take her away. If I ever see her face again, she goes into the ground.”
Isabella wept as two men grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the room. She didn’t look back.
Dante turned his attention to me. The fierce mob boss was gone, replaced by a man looking at a housekeeper with something bordering on awe.
“You saved my life, Claire,” Dante said, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved my nephew. Why?”
I looked down at the USB drive still gripped in my hand, and then at the silver necklace Marcus had dropped on the floor.
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“Because my dad always told me,” I said quietly, “that you don’t walk away when someone needs a voice.”
Dante nodded slowly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.
