Chapter 8 - THE PAWNBROKER'S DEBT PAID IN LEAD
"Drop it, you traitorous piece of garbage," Silas growled, racking the slide of his own pistol.
Paulie hesitated for a fraction of a second, caught between the two armed older men at the front door and the stairs leading down to me.
That hesitation cost him his life.
Arty, the terrified pawnbroker who had sworn he wanted no part of mafia business, didn't wait. He leveled the heavy shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening in the enclosed space of the kitchen.
Paulie was thrown backward, crashing into the marble island before sliding lifelessly to the floor. His suppressed pistol skittered across the tiles, stopping inches from my feet.
Vanessa screamed, dropping the remote detonator. She scrambled backward, slipping in Paulie's blood, her sharp black suit suddenly feeling entirely inadequate for a gunfight.
"Silas!" I yelled, rushing up the remaining stairs and kicking the detonator across the floor, out of Vanessa's reach.
Silas stepped over the splintered front doors, keeping his gun trained squarely on Vanessa. He looked older, tired, but the protective fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Arty stood behind him, shaking violently, staring at the body on the floor.
"I owed your father, Mrs. Moretti," Arty stammered, lowering the shotgun. "Thirty years ago, your father kept my shop from burning down. I couldn't let his daughter walk into a trap alone."
"Thank you, Arty," I breathed, tears of gratitude stinging my eyes.
I turned back to the basement door. "Charlotte. It's safe. Come up."
Slowly, the frail, trembling figure of my daughter emerged from the stairwell. She clutched my coat tightly around her shoulders, blinking rapidly against the bright kitchen lights.
When Silas saw her, the hardened detective lowered his gun slightly, completely stunned.
"Dear God," Silas whispered. "She looks exactly like you, Maggie."
Vanessa, realizing she was completely cornered, let out a vicious snarl. She lunged toward the counter, grabbing a heavy butcher knife from the block.
Before Silas could raise his gun again, I moved.
I didn't think. I just reacted with the primal, unchecked rage of a mother who had lost twenty-three years of her child's life.
I grabbed the heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove and swung it with everything I had.
The iron connected with the side of Vanessa's head with a sickening crack.
She collapsed instantly, the knife clattering harmlessly to the floor.
I stood over her unconscious body, my chest heaving, the skillet still gripped tightly in my hand. For a terrifying second, I wanted to hit her again. I wanted to crush her for every day Charlotte spent in that dark cellar.
But I felt a small, cold hand slip into mine.
I looked down. Charlotte was standing beside me, her green eyes looking at the woman who had tormented her.
"She's not worth it, Mom," Charlotte whispered.
Mom.
The word broke me completely. The anger vanished, replaced by a profound, overwhelming love. I dropped the skillet and wrapped my arms around her again.
"You're right," I sobbed. "She's not."
Outside, the sound of screeching tires echoed through the driveway. Multiple car doors slammed shut.
Silas turned toward the foyer, raising his gun. "We have company."
I stepped in front of Charlotte, bracing myself.
Dominic Moretti burst through the ruined front doors.
He was flanked by four of his loyal guards. When he saw the destruction—the shattered doors, Paulie's body on the kitchen floor, and Vanessa unconscious in a pool of blood—he froze completely.
His dark eyes swept the room, finally landing on me.
And then, his gaze shifted slightly to the left.
Dominic stopped breathing.
He stared at the frail, blonde woman standing behind me. He stared at the face that was a mirror image of the wife he had loved in his youth.
The heavy leather briefcase Dominic was holding slipped from his fingers, hitting the marble floor with a heavy thud.
"Maggie?" Dominic choked out, his voice cracking with absolute disbelief. "Is that...?"
"Yes," I said, my voice cold and hard as steel. "This is Charlotte. The daughter you let Carlo Bellini's nurse steal. The daughter you allowed your mistress to lock in a basement for ten years."
Dominic fell to his knees in the middle of the foyer.
He didn't care about his men watching. He didn't care about the blood on the floor. He stared at Charlotte, tears streaming down his face, his hands trembling as he reached out toward her.
"My baby," Dominic wept, the sound tearing out of his chest. "Charlotte. You're alive."
He tried to crawl forward.
I stepped forward, blocking his path, and picked up Paulie's discarded gun from the floor.
I pointed it directly at my husband's chest.
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"Don't you dare come near her," I said.
TITLE: A MAFIA BOSS BEGGING ON HIS KNEES
