Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD ON THE FLOORBOARDS
I froze. The knocking rattled the cheap hinges of our front door.
“Don't open it,” my mother rasped, trying to push herself up against the pillows, her breath catching in a wheeze.
“Emily! They’re coming!” Vincent yelled.
My instincts screamed at me to lock the deadbolt, but the raw desperation in the mafia boss’s voice didn't make sense. I took two steps forward and yanked the door open.
Vincent Moretti stumbled inside.
He was no longer the composed, terrifying man from the diner. His dark sweater was torn at the shoulder, and blood was running freely down his left arm, dripping onto our cheap linoleum floor.
He immediately turned and slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolt and sliding the chain into place.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled, grabbing a towel from the kitchen counter and pressing it to his bleeding shoulder.
“My brother,” Vincent gritted out, wincing as I applied pressure. “Carmine. He found out I came to see you. He sent men to my car.”
I stared at him, my mind spinning. “Why would your brother care if you got coffee at a diner?”
“Because he knows who you are,” Vincent said, looking past me to the hospital bed.
Vincent’s eyes locked onto my mother. The mafia boss stood perfectly still, the blood soaking through the towel.
“Ruth,” Vincent said softly. The respect in his voice was unmistakable.
My mother glared at him, her chest heaving as she pulled her oxygen cannula tighter. “You shouldn't have come here, Vincent. You brought them right to her.”
“I came to warn her,” Vincent said, his jaw tightening. “Carmine knows she’s Arthur’s daughter. He knows about the money.”
The room spun. Arthur. That was the name on my birth certificate. Arthur Miller. The man who had allegedly abandoned us.
“Who is Arthur?” I demanded, looking between the two of them. “Mom, you said my father was a mechanic who walked out.”
“Your father was an accountant, Emily,” Vincent said, looking at me with dark, heavy eyes. “He was the chief financial officer for my father's syndicate. And twenty-eight years ago, he stole four million dollars from the Moretti family to buy Ruth a way out of the life.”
I stumbled back, my hands suddenly numb. “He stole from the mafia?”
“He didn't steal it,” my mother spat, her voice surprisingly fierce. “He hid it. Because your father found out Carmine was selling weapons to the cartels behind the family’s back. Arthur hid the money to protect Vincent, and Carmine murdered him for it.”
Answer one. Open two. My father hadn't abandoned me. He had died protecting his family. And he had been murdered by the current underboss of the city.
“Where is the money, Ruth?” Vincent asked quietly. “Carmine is tearing the city apart looking for the ledgers that point to the accounts. If he finds them before I do, he’ll use the cartel connections to wipe out the rest of our family. Including you.”
“I don't have it,” my mother coughed, a terrible, rattling sound. “Arthur hid it before he died. He left me a clue, but I never figured it out.”
Vincent’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a bloodstained hand. His face went entirely pale.
“Vincent?” I asked, the fear finally catching up to me. “What is it?”
“They aren't just coming for us,” Vincent whispered, looking at the screen. He turned the phone around so I could see.
It was a live security feed. A little boy, no older than seven, was sitting in a lavish bedroom, playing with a toy car.
“That’s my nephew, Leo,” Vincent said, his voice breaking. “Carmine just took my security detail off his door.”
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Suddenly, the heavy glass of our apartment window shattered inward.
TITLE: The Gold Watch and the Gunfire
