Chapter 7 - THE ROSARY
The revelation sucked all the air out of the room.
Vincent fell to his knees in the closet, clutching his dead brother’s bloody coat to his chest. The ruthless, untouchable mafia boss was entirely broken, weeping silently into the stiff, stained fabric.
I stood in the doorway, holding Mia tightly against my side, unsure of what to do.
Eleanor pushed past me. She didn't say a word. She walked into the closet, dropped her cane, and knelt beside her son. She wrapped her frail arms around his broad shoulders, rocking him as if he were a little boy again.
I stepped back out into the hallway, giving them a moment of privacy.
My mind was racing.
Carlo was a monster. He had orchestrated the murder of Vincent’s father, framed my dad, killed my dad to cover his tracks, and then murdered Vincent’s brother when he got too close to the truth.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
It was an unknown number.
I hesitated, then answered it.
“Hello?”
“Lucy.”
The voice on the other end made my blood turn to ice.
It was Carlo.
“How are you calling me?” I hissed, backing away from the blue doors. “Vincent’s men have you.”
Carlo let out a wet, rattling laugh. “Vincent’s men work for whoever pays them the most, little girl. Two of his guards just put a bullet in the driver taking me to the basement. I’m currently standing in the security control room of the estate.”
Panic gripped my throat. “What do you want?”
“I have locked down the entire property,” Carlo said, his voice turning deadly cold. “The steel shutters are down. The gates are locked. Vincent is trapped inside with me and twenty men who are loyal to my payroll, not his.”
I looked down the hallway. The heavy steel security shutters had indeed slid down over the massive windows, plunging the corridor into unnatural shadows.
“Vincent will kill you,” I whispered.
“Vincent is about to die,” Carlo countered. “But before I kill him, I need something from you. Your father stole something from me fifteen years ago. A small, silver microdot containing the offshore account numbers for the entire syndicate’s black money. He took it the night he ran from the hotel.”
A reversal.
My father didn't just witness a murder. He stole the syndicate’s money.
“I don't have it,” I panicked.
“You do,” Carlo said with absolute certainty. “Arthur hid it in something he gave to you. I want it back. Bring it to the grand foyer in five minutes, or I tell my men to execute the old woman and the kid first.”
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone.
I ran back into the bedroom. Vincent was standing up, wiping his face, his expression hardened back into stone.
“Vincent,” I gasped. “Carlo escaped. He bought off your guards. He locked down the house.”
Vincent didn't look surprised. He drew his weapon from his shoulder holster and racked the slide.
“I know,” Vincent said. “I heard the steel shutters drop. He’s making his play.”
“He wants a microdot,” I said frantically. “He said my dad stole the syndicate’s bank accounts fifteen years ago and hid it in something he gave me. But I don't have it! I only have the watch and the ticket!”
Vincent stopped. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing.
“If your father took the microdot,” Vincent said rapidly, “he wouldn't have hidden it in the watch. The watch belonged to my father. It was too risky.”
Suddenly, Eleanor gasped.
She clutched her chest, her face turning completely pale. She stumbled backward, collapsing into the armchair.
“Ma!” Vincent shouted, rushing to her side.
“My chest,” Eleanor wheezed, her breathing shallow and ragged. The stress of the morning had finally caught up to her fragile heart.
“Lucy, help her!” Vincent demanded, his panic spiking.
My nursing training kicked in instantly. I dropped to my knees beside the chair, grabbing Eleanor’s wrist to check her pulse. It was erratic and racing.
“She’s having an angina attack,” I said, looking around the room. “Does she have nitroglycerin pills?”
“In her pocket!” Vincent said, digging into her cardigan.
He pulled out a small pill bottle and handed it to me. I quickly placed a tiny pill under Eleanor’s tongue.
“Breathe, Eleanor,” I commanded gently, rubbing her shoulder. “Slow, deep breaths. Look at me.”
As I rubbed her shoulder, my hand brushed against something hard in her other pocket.
Eleanor reached into her pocket with a trembling hand and pulled it out.
It was a heavy, wooden rosary.
She pressed it into my hand.
“Lucy,” Eleanor wheezed, her eyes locking onto mine with desperate intensity. “Listen to me.”
“Don't speak, Ma, just breathe,” Vincent begged.
“No,” Eleanor said, her voice gaining a fraction of strength. She looked at me. “Your father… Arthur. He didn't steal the money.”
I froze. “What?”
“Carlo lied to you,” Eleanor whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. “Carlo took the microdot. But your father saw him take it. That’s why your father had to die. Because he was a witness to the theft.”
Eleanor squeezed my hand, pressing the wooden beads into my palm.
“I knew,” Eleanor confessed, looking up at her son. “Vincent, forgive me. I knew Carlo took the money. I found the bank records hidden in my husband’s desk after he died.”
Vincent stared at his mother in shock. “Why didn't you tell me, Ma? Why did you let Carlo stay close to us?”
“Because Carlo threatened to kill you!” Eleanor cried, tears spilling over her cheeks. “He told me if I ever breathed a word about the money, he would put a bomb in your car, just like he did to his own wife. I kept quiet to keep you alive, Vincent. I played the deaf, foolish old woman so he wouldn't see me as a threat.”
The magnitude of a mother’s sacrifice hung heavy in the room. She had lived next to her husband’s murderer for fifteen years, just to protect her son.
Before Vincent could respond, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway.
“They’re coming,” Vincent said.
He stood up, standing between us and the door, raising his weapon.
“Lucy,” Vincent said without looking back. “Take Mia and my mother into the bathroom. Lock the door. Do not come out until I tell you.”
“Vincent, there are twenty of them,” I pleaded.
“I am Vincent Caruso,” he said quietly. “This is my house.”
I grabbed Mia, helped Eleanor up, and dragged them both into the bathroom. I locked the door and pressed my back against it, covering Mia’s ears.
Gunfire erupted in the hallway.
Deafening, rapid bursts of automatic weapons tore through the drywall. Men shouted. Glass shattered.
I closed my eyes, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years.
Suddenly, the gunfire stopped.
Heavy footsteps approached the bathroom door.
I held my breath.
“Vincent?” I whispered.
The lock on the bathroom door exploded as a bullet blew it apart.
The door kicked open.
It wasn't Vincent.
It was Carlo.
His face was covered in blood, and he had a deep gunshot wound in his shoulder, but he was holding his weapon steadily.
May you like
He aimed it directly at my forehead.
“Time’s up, Lucy,” Carlo snarled. “Give me the necklace.”
