Chapter 3 - THE REVOLVER
The scream that tore through the lobby came from a young nurse behind the reception desk.
The security men drew their weapons instantly, but Sabrina already had the revolver leveled directly at Evelyn’s chest.
“Back off!” Sabrina shrieked, her hands shaking violently. “Drop the guns, or the old woman dies right now!”
Vincent froze. The mafia boss who controlled half the city was suddenly paralyzed by the sight of a gun pointed at his mother.
“Sabrina,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Put it down. If you pull that trigger, you will not leave this room alive.”
“I’m not leaving alive anyway!” she screamed, tears of absolute panic streaming down her face. “You think I wanted to marry you? You think I wanted to spend my life looking over my shoulder? The Moretti family forced me!”
The Morettis.
Even I knew that name. They were the Romanos' oldest, deadliest rivals.
“You sold Marco to the Morettis,” Vincent stated, the pieces finally clicking together. “And they sent you back to finish the job with me.”
“He was going to ruin everything!” Sabrina cried. “Marco found out the Morettis were laundering money through my art gallery! He was going to expose us! I had no choice!”
She gripped the gun tighter. Her finger twitched on the trigger.
I was still kneeling on the floor next to Evelyn’s wheelchair. I didn't have a weapon. I didn't have security training.
But I had the mop handle lying on the marble floor inches from my knee.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I grabbed the heavy wooden handle and swung it as hard as I could at Sabrina’s shins.
The wood connected with a sickening crack.
Sabrina screamed in pain, her legs buckling. She fired blindly as she fell.
The gunshot deafened the lobby. Plaster exploded from the ceiling, raining white dust over us.
Before she could aim again, Vincent was on her.
He didn't use a gun. He kicked the revolver out of her hand with brutal precision, then pinned her to the floor, his knee pressing heavily into her back.
“Bind her,” Vincent ordered his men, stepping away in disgust.
The security team dragged a sobbing, cursing Sabrina away, securing her hands with heavy plastic zip-ties.
The lobby was dead silent, save for Sabrina’s ragged breathing.
Vincent walked slowly back to his mother. Evelyn was pale, clutching her chest, but she was unhurt.
Then, Vincent looked down at me.
I was still on my knees, clutching the mop handle, shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
Vincent reached out a large, steady hand.
“Get up, Rachel,” he said quietly.
I took his hand. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle as he pulled me to my feet.
“You saved her life,” Vincent said, his dark eyes searching my face. “You saved my mother.”
“I just swung a mop,” I stammered, my voice trembling.
“You didn't run,” he corrected. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the creased photograph. “But I need to know why you recognized this.”
I frowned. “I didn't recognize it. I just found it in her pocket.”
“No,” Vincent said, turning the photo around. He pointed to the third person in the picture. The woman standing between Evelyn and his father twelve years ago.
“Look closely,” Vincent said.
I leaned in.
The woman had dark hair, a soft smile, and she was wearing a silver locket around her neck.
My blood ran cold.
I reached up and touched the exact same silver locket resting against my own collarbone.
“That’s my mother,” I whispered, all the air leaving my lungs.
“I know,” Vincent said softly. “Because your mother, Elena Quinn, was Marco’s private nurse.”
The floor felt like it was dropping out from underneath me.
“My mother died in a car accident twelve years ago,” I said, panic rising in my throat. “She didn't work for your family. She worked at a public clinic.”
“She worked for us, Rachel,” Evelyn said gently from her wheelchair. “She took care of Marco after he was shot the first time. She was the only one he trusted.”
I took a step back. Everything I knew about my life, my mother’s death, was suddenly fracturing.
“Then why didn't I know?” I demanded, tears springing to my eyes. “Why did she keep it a secret?”
“Because she knew Sabrina betrayed Marco,” Vincent said. He pointed to the back of the photograph. SHE KNOWS WHO BETRAYED MARCO.
“Your mother wrote this,” Vincent explained. “She sent this to my mother twelve years ago, the night before she died in that 'accident.'”
Sabrina had killed my mother.
The realization hit me with the force of a freight train. The woman who just tried to kill Evelyn had murdered my mother to cover up her betrayal.
I looked at Sabrina, who was now staring at me with pure, unfiltered hatred.
“She didn't die in an accident,” Sabrina sneered, spitting blood onto the marble floor. “She was too nosy. Just like you.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. He looked at his security chief. “Put her in the trunk. Take her to the warehouse.”
“No,” a new voice said.
We all turned.
Standing in the service hallway, flanked by two armed men, was a man in a pristine white suit.
May you like
He held a suppressed pistol aimed directly at Vincent.
“I’m afraid Sabrina is coming with me, Vincent,” the man smiled.
