Chapter 8 - THE FLIGHT TICKET TO PALERMO
Helen stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, her silver hair plastered to her forehead. She looked nothing like the quiet housekeeper who ironed Luca’s shirts. She looked like an avenging angel.
“Drop the gun, Marco,” Helen ordered, cocking the shotgun with a loud, terrifying clack.
Marco chuckled, though a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “Helen. I should have known the maid would try to play hero. You don't have the stomach to pull that trigger.”
“You murdered my son,” Helen said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. “Try me.”
Marco’s eyes flicked to his three enforcers. “Kill her.”
Before the men could raise their weapons, the shadows behind them moved. Daniel and four of Luca’s most loyal guards stepped silently out of the darkness, pressing the muzzles of their silenced pistols directly against the backs of the enforcers' heads.
“Drop them,” Daniel growled.
The three men slowly lowered their rifles, letting them clatter to the stone floor.
Marco was suddenly alone.
The arrogant smirk melted off his face, replaced by a cornered, desperate panic.
“Luca, be reasonable,” Marco stammered, taking a step back. “If you kill me, the commission will demand blood. The families will go to war.”
Luca slowly stood up, placing himself gently between his mother and his uncle. He picked up his fallen gun from the floor.
“There won't be a war,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Because the commission already knows what you did.”
Marco went pale. “What?”
“Vanessa didn't just blow up that warehouse tonight,” Luca revealed, stepping closer. “She sent copies of the ledgers to the commission. The ledgers proving you’ve been stealing from them to fund the sanatorium that held my mother.”
Marco’s hands began to shake. He realized he was completely outplayed.
In a sudden, desperate move, Marco lunged toward the door, shoving past Helen.
But as he ran, something slipped from his coat pocket and fluttered to the wet ground.
Daniel slammed Marco against the stone wall, pinning him by the throat. Marco gasped for air, his gun dropping to the floor.
I walked over to where Marco had stumbled. I reached down and picked up the piece of paper he had dropped.
It was a first-class flight ticket.
“One way to Palermo,” I read aloud, looking at Luca. “He was leaving tonight. He was going to kill your mother and flee the country.”
“Take him to the warehouse,” Luca ordered Daniel, his eyes dark with the promise of violence. “Let the commission deal with him.”
Daniel nodded, dragging a sobbing, begging Marco out into the rain.
The silence that fell over the rectory was deafening.
Luca turned back to his mother. Isabella smiled softly, reaching out to cup her son’s face. “You became a good man, Luca. Despite everything they tried to make you.”
Luca closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
Helen slowly lowered the shotgun, her legs giving out. I rushed forward, catching her before she hit the floor.
“Mama, you’re safe. It’s over,” I cried, holding her tight.
“Lily,” Helen wept, burying her face in my shoulder. “I couldn't let them hurt you. I couldn't lose you and Leo, too.”
“You won't,” I promised, kissing her forehead.
Luca walked over to us. He knelt down, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the plain gold wedding ring I had found in the ashes.
Gently, he took Helen’s hand and slid the ring back onto her finger.
“No one is ever taking this from you again, Helen,” Luca promised softly. “You aren't a housekeeper anymore. You’re family.”
Helen cried harder, nodding as she gripped his hand.
“Come on,” Luca said, standing up and offering me his hand. “Let’s go get Leo. It’s time to go home.”
As I placed my uninjured left hand in his, a rush of warmth spread through my chest. For the first time in three years, the crushing weight of survival lifted from my shoulders.
We walked out to the SUV. Leo was still fast asleep in the backseat, completely oblivious to the war that had just ended.
But as we pulled up to the mansion gates an hour later, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers illuminated the driveway.
“What is going on?” I asked, panic flaring again.
Luca stepped out of the car. A detective walked over, his expression grim.
“Mr. Moretti. We received an anonymous tip with evidence regarding the hit-and-run death of David Carter.”
I froze, leaning out the open window.
“We have a confession,” the detective said. “From Vanessa Bellini. She turned herself in twenty minutes ago. She provided the documents proving your uncle ordered the hit, and she admitted to her role in the extortion.”
My breath caught. Vanessa had surrendered. She had traded her own freedom to ensure Marco went down.
“She left this for you,” the detective added, handing Luca a small velvet box.
Luca opened it. Inside was the massive diamond engagement ring Vanessa had worn just hours ago.
And tucked beneath the diamond was a small, handwritten note.
May you like
Luca read it, his eyes softening. Then, he handed it to me.
“I was never cut out to be a mother. Take care of him, Lily.”
