Chapter 8 - THE NECKLACE
I stared at the barrel of Carlo’s gun.
“The necklace?” I stammered, my mind completely blank. “I don't have a necklace.”
“Don't lie to me!” Carlo roared, grabbing me by the throat and slamming me against the bathroom tiles. Mia screamed, clinging to Eleanor’s leg. “Arthur bought a cheap silver locket the day before the hit! He hollowed it out to hide the microdot. I know he gave it to you. Where is it?!”
My blood turned to ice.
A cheap silver locket.
My father had given me a small, tarnished silver heart locket the night he died. He told me it belonged to my mother, who died when I was a baby. He told me to keep it safe.
But I wasn't wearing it.
I slowly turned my eyes toward the corner of the bathroom.
Mia was wearing it.
The tiny silver heart rested against her pink dinosaur pajamas. I had given it to her on her fourth birthday, telling her it was from her grandfather.
Carlo followed my gaze.
He saw the silver chain around my six-year-old daughter’s neck.
A sick, triumphant smile spread across his bloody face.
He dropped me to the floor and took a step toward Mia.
“No!” I screamed, scrambling up and grabbing his arm. “Don't touch her! I’ll take it off! Just don't touch her!”
Carlo backhanded me across the face with the heavy steel of his gun. The impact exploded in my jaw, sending me crashing into the glass shower door. Pain blinded me for a second, my vision swimming in black spots.
“Come here, kid,” Carlo hissed, reaching for Mia.
Eleanor stepped in front of the little girl, raising her wooden cane like a weapon.
“You will not touch this child, Carlo,” Eleanor said, her voice filled with absolute authority.
Carlo didn't even blink. He raised his gun, aiming it directly at Eleanor’s chest.
“You should have died with your husband, old woman,” Carlo sneered.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
BANG.
Blood sprayed across the white bathroom tiles.
But it wasn't Eleanor’s blood.
Carlo’s eyes went wide. He looked down at his own chest. A massive red stain was blooming across his tailored shirt.
He dropped his gun, collapsing to his knees.
Standing in the shattered doorway, holding a smoking handgun, was Vincent.
He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, his suit torn, breathing heavily. He looked like a demon straight out of hell.
Vincent walked forward, kicked Carlo’s dropped gun across the floor, and looked down at the dying underboss.
“You forgot one thing about my house, Carlo,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “I know where the blind spots are.”
Carlo gagged on his own blood, collapsing face-first onto the tiles.
He was dead.
The silence in the bathroom was broken only by Mia’s quiet sobbing.
Vincent instantly dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. He ignored the blood on the floor and pulled Mia into his arms, hugging her tightly.
“It’s okay, piccola,” Vincent murmured, kissing the top of her head. “The bad man is gone. He can never hurt you.”
I pulled myself up from the floor, my jaw throbbing in agony. I stumbled forward and wrapped my arms around both of them, burying my face in Vincent’s shoulder, weeping uncontrollably.
Vincent held us both, his large, scarred hand resting gently on the back of my head.
“I’ve got you,” Vincent whispered. “You're safe. I promise.”
Ten minutes later, the estate was swarming with men loyal only to Vincent. The traitors who had sided with Carlo were either dead or bound in the courtyard, waiting for Vincent’s judgment.
We were moved to a different wing of the house, far away from the carnage.
A medic checked my jaw, confirming it wasn't broken, just badly bruised. He gave Eleanor a mild sedative to calm her heart rate, and she fell asleep in a massive armchair, holding Mia’s hand.
Vincent walked into the room. He had washed the blood off his face and changed into a clean shirt.
He looked at me sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
“I’m alive,” I said, my voice hoarse.
I reached up and gently unclasped the silver chain from around Mia’s neck while she slept. I held the tarnished heart locket in my hand.
“This is what he wanted,” I said, holding it out to Vincent.
Vincent walked over and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. He took the locket.
He used a small pocket knife to pry the cheap silver casing apart.
Inside, tucked behind a tiny, faded picture of my mother, was a microscopic black chip. The microdot.
Vincent stared at it.
“Billions of dollars,” Vincent said quietly. “Hidden around a little girl’s neck for fifteen years.”
“Carlo framed my dad for the murder so he could search his apartment for that,” I said, the pieces finally fitting together. “When he didn't find it, he had my dad killed on the highway.”
Vincent looked at me. His dark eyes were filled with a profound sorrow.
“Your father was an innocent man, Lucy,” Vincent said. “He tried to run to protect you. He died trying to keep this out of Carlo’s hands.”
Tears welled in my eyes. For fifteen years, I had believed my father abandoned me by driving drunk off a bridge. Knowing he died a hero, trying to save me, broke my heart all over again, but this time, it was a clean break.
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked, looking at the microdot.
Vincent closed his hand around the locket.
“I’m going to destroy the syndicate,” Vincent said.
I stared at him. “What?”
“My father wanted to legitimize this family,” Vincent explained, looking out the window at the morning sun breaking over the estate. “Carlo stopped him. He wanted the black money. He wanted the violence. But Carlo is dead. And with this microdot, I have the leverage to force the other families to step down, or I expose every offshore account they have to the FBI.”
A reversal.
The feared mafia boss of Brooklyn was going to dismantle his own empire.
“You would walk away from all that power?” I asked quietly.
Vincent turned back to me. He looked at my bruised face, at his sleeping mother, at my daughter holding Eleanor’s hand.
“Power didn't protect my mother,” Vincent said softly. “Power didn't bring my brother back. And power almost got you killed today.”
He reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was incredibly tender.
“I want a different life, Lucy,” Vincent whispered. “I want to build something that doesn't require high stone walls and armed guards.”
May you like
He looked into my eyes, and for the first time, the imposing, terrifying wall around Vincent Caruso completely crumbled.
“I want to build it with you.”
