Chapter 10 - THE BRASS WATCH AND THE BLOODLINE
The brass felt heavy and cold in my palm.
I stood in the center of Grace’s cramped, dimly lit apartment, dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds. The apartment was supposed to be a temporary exile, but it felt like a tomb.
I stared at the photograph tucked inside the lid of the pocket watch.
The picture was faded, the edges curled with age. It showed a girl of about sixteen, her hair pulled back, smiling brightly. It was unmistakably Grace.
But the man standing beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, made my blood run cold.
I had lived in Chicago my whole life. Anyone who watched the local news knew that face.
Liam Gallagher.
The ruthless, untouchable patriarch of the South Side Irish mob. The man who had waged a bloody, decade-long war against the Moretti family in the 1990s. The man who had allegedly ordered the hit on Luca’s uncle.
And Grace, the loyal Italian mafia wife, was standing with him like a daughter.
“Emily?”
I jumped, snapping the watch shut so hard the brass pinched my palm.
Grace was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. She was wearing a loose cashmere sweater, leaning heavily on a cane. She was only three days out of underground surgery, but she had insisted on coming to the apartment to ensure all her personal files were destroyed before the movers arrived.
“Are you alright?” Grace asked, her eyes narrowing as she noticed my rigid posture. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I stammered, awkwardly stuffing my hands—and the watch—into the pockets of my apron. “Just… found some dust in the coat lining.”
Grace walked slowly into the room, her sharp eyes locking onto my pockets. Despite her physical weakness, her presence was commanding. She wasn't just the grieving mother anymore; the fire I had seen in her during the shootout was permanently ignited.
“Emily,” Grace said softly. “You saved my life three nights ago. You kept my daughter safe. There are no secrets between us.”
She held out her hand.
My heart hammered against my ribs. If I gave her the watch, I was crossing a line I could never uncross. But lying to Grace Moretti felt like a guaranteed death sentence.
Slowly, I pulled the brass watch from my pocket and placed it in her palm.
Grace looked down at the engraved casing. Her breath hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound of profound grief. She didn’t open it. She didn’t need to.
“Where did you find this?” she asked, her voice entirely flat.
“Sewn into the lining of your grey winter coat,” I whispered. “Mrs. Moretti… is that Liam Gallagher in the photo?”
Grace closed her eyes. She walked painfully over to the small, worn sofa and sat down, leaning her cane against the armrest.
“My maiden name is Rossi,” Grace said quietly, staring at the brass watch in her hands. “That’s the name on my birth certificate. That’s the name Luca fell in love with.”
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“But my mother was a cocktail waitress in a South Side pub before she met the man who raised me,” Grace continued. “Liam Gallagher was a regular. He was charming. He was powerful. And he was my biological father.”
The room spun.
“You’re a Gallagher?” I breathed. “Does Luca know?”
“No,” Grace whispered, a tear finally escaping. “If Luca knew I had Gallagher blood in my veins… if he knew my biological father was the man who ordered the hit on his family… it would destroy him. It would destroy our marriage. So I hid it. For twenty-six years, I hid it.”
Suddenly, the heavy apartment door swung open behind us.
We both jumped.
Luca stood in the doorway. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit, no tie. He looked exhausted, the bruises from the wedding shootout still healing on his jaw.
But his eyes weren't tired. They were fixed directly on the brass watch in Grace's hands.
“You forgot to lock the door,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
He stepped into the apartment, closing the door softly behind him. The click of the deadbolt sounded like a gunshot.
“Luca,” Grace said, her voice shaking as she tried to slip the watch into her pocket. “We were just packing up.”
“I saw what you were holding, Grace,” Luca said, taking a slow step toward her. “Put it on the coffee table.”
“It’s nothing,” Grace pleaded, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the watch. “Just an old trinket from my mother.”
“Put it on the table.”
Grace looked at me, a look of pure panic. Then, with a trembling hand, she placed the brass watch on the scuffed wooden table.
Luca walked over. He didn’t look angry. He looked profoundly sad. He reached down, picked up the watch, and clicked the latch open.
He stared at the photograph of teenage Grace and Liam Gallagher.
The silence stretched for agonizing seconds. I braced myself for the explosion. I braced myself for him to pull his weapon, to scream betrayal, to exile her again.
Instead, Luca gently closed the watch.
He looked at his wife.
“I know, Gracie,” Luca said softly.
Grace froze. “What?”
“I’ve known since the day before we got married,” Luca said, sitting down on the sofa beside her. “My father ran a background check on your mother. He found the birth records. He found the payoffs Gallagher sent her to keep quiet.”
Grace stared at him, absolute shock written across her face. “You… you knew? You married me knowing I was the blood of your enemy?”
Luca reached out, taking her trembling hands in his. “I married the woman who stayed up all night nursing me when I had pneumonia. I married the woman who gave me Lily. I didn’t care whose blood was in your veins. You were a Moretti the second you said yes.”
Grace broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. The secret she had carried like a boulder for three decades was gone in an instant. Luca held her, kissing the top of her head.
I stepped back, feeling like I was intruding on a sacred moment. The mafia boss wasn’t a monster. He was just a man fiercely in love with his wife.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Grace cried against his chest.
“Because I knew how much it terrified you,” Luca said gently. “I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.”
It was a beautiful, healing moment.
And then, Luca’s cell phone rang.
It wasn’t his standard ringtone. It was a harsh, blaring alarm. The secure line.
Luca pulled away, his expression hardening instantly. He answered the phone, putting it to his ear.
“Speak.”
I watched the color drain completely from Luca’s face. He stood up slowly, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“Are you sure?” Luca asked. “How many men?”
He listened for another second, then hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
“Luca?” Grace asked, wiping her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Luca looked at the brass watch on the table, then at Grace.
“Liam Gallagher died of a stroke this morning,” Luca said, his voice tight. “And his eldest son—your half-brother, Declan—just pulled up to the gates of our estate with thirty heavily armed men.”
Grace went pale. “What does Declan want?”
Luca looked at her, his eyes filled with dread.
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“He found out about you,” Luca whispered. “And since Liam left no other legitimate heirs… Declan is demanding I hand over his sister so she can take her rightful place as the head of the Gallagher family.”
TITLE: THE HEIR TO THE ENEMY
