Chapter 5 – The Silver Bullet

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

But the pain never came.

Instead, a heavy weight crashed into me, driving me to the wet concrete. I opened my eyes and saw Luca kneeling over me.

Across the alley, Vanessa stood frozen, the gun slipping from her fingers. She looked down at her shoulder. A blooming red stain spread across her black trench coat.

She collapsed to her knees.

I looked to my left. Teresa stood perfectly still, her silver revolver smoking in the rain. She had fired first.

The police cars skidded to a halt, officers swarming the alley with weapons drawn. They moved past us, tackling Vanessa’s men to the ground and kicking her weapon away.

Luca pulled me up, his hands checking my arms and shoulders frantically. “Emily, are you hit? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I gasped, clinging to his coat. “I’m okay.”

I pulled Sam into a tight hug. He was shivering, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but he was alive.

An older police captain with a gray mustache walked over to us. He looked at Teresa, who had calmly set her revolver on a wooden crate and raised her hands.

“Mrs. Moretti,” the captain said gently. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Captain Miller,” Teresa said softly. “I believe you’ll find the evidence you need on that woman’s phone. Kidnapping, extortion, and the murder of Arthur Parker twenty years ago.”

The captain nodded. “We’ll take it from here.”

He didn’t arrest Teresa. He didn’t even cuff her. He just ordered his men to load Vanessa into the back of an ambulance. As they wheeled Vanessa past us, she looked at Luca, her eyes full of venom.

“You think this makes you clean?” Vanessa spat. “You’re still a Moretti. You can’t wash the blood off.”

Luca looked down at her. “I just did.”

The drive back to the estate was quiet. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a deep, bone-aching exhaustion. Sam fell asleep in the backseat, his head resting on Teresa’s shoulder. She gently stroked his hair, humming a soft Italian lullaby.

When we got back to the mansion, the sun was just beginning to rise over Lake Michigan, casting a pale golden light across the manicured lawns.

I took Sam upstairs and put him in one of the guest beds. I cleaned his cut, pulled the heavy duvet over him, and watched him sleep until I was sure he was safe.

When I finally walked out of the room, Luca was leaning against the wall in the hallway. He had taken off his suit jacket. His white shirt was soaked, his tie gone.

“He’s asleep,” I whispered.

Luca nodded. “He can stay here as long as he needs. We’ll pay for his college. We’ll get him an apartment. Whatever he wants.”

“Luca, you don’t have to do that,” I said, my throat tightening.

“Yes, I do,” he said. He stepped closer to me. The space between us suddenly felt very small. “Emily, everything I told you tonight was true. I walked away from the family business. The syndicate is gone. I’m just a man now.”

I looked up into his dark eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I saw what this life did to my mother,” Luca said quietly. “I saw what it did to your father. And when I saw Vanessa looking at you tonight… I realized I would burn the whole world down before I let anyone hurt you.”

My breath caught.

Luca slowly reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was incredibly gentle.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I let her treat you poorly.”

“You didn’t know,” I said, leaning slightly into his hand.

“I know now,” he said.

He leaned in, and I closed my eyes. His lips met mine, soft and hesitating at first, asking for permission. I reached up, my hands gripping the front of his shirt, and kissed him back. It felt like safety. It felt like coming home.

But our moment was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

We broke apart.

Teresa’s oldest bodyguard, Marco, stood at the top of the landing. He looked pale.

“Mr. Moretti,” Marco said, his voice tense. “You need to come downstairs.”

“What is it?” Luca asked, stepping in front of me protectively.

“A package just arrived by courier,” Marco said. “It’s addressed to your mother. But she told me to come get you.”

“Why?” Luca asked.

Marco swallowed hard. “Because the return address is from a federal penitentiary. It’s from Carlo Bellini.”