THROW THAT FILTHY BOOK IN THE TRASH! NOBODY WANTS HER PEASANT RECIPES AT MY WEDDING!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 77-YEAR-OLD MOTHER DURING THEIR WEDDING MENU TASTING—BUT WHEN THE 25-YEAR-OLD KITCHEN ASSISTANT CAUGHT THE BOOK AND WHISPERED, “SHE MADE ME COPY EVERY PAGE BEFORE SHE FIRED YOUR MOTHER,” MARCO DELUCA SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS FORK

Chapter 6 – THE OFFSHORE ACCOUNT

Richard’s smile vanished.

“My father was a legitimate businessman,” Richard spat, though his hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

“Your father was a parasite,” my dad said, his voice stronger than it had been in years. The shock of the moment seemed to have pulled him entirely into the present. “He used his political connections to bleed Antonio’s neighborhood dry. When I found out, I moved the money. All of it.”

Serena looked at her husband, her face pale. “Richard, what is he talking about?”

“Shut up, Serena,” Richard snapped. He stepped toward my father, pressing the gun to Marco’s temple. “Give me the password, old man.”

My father stood tall, shielding me behind his frail body.

“The password,” my dad said calmly, “is Antonio’s anniversary.”

Marco’s eyes widened. “October 14th. 10-14-1979.”

Richard pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand, rapidly typing the numbers into a banking app.

The wind off the East River howled.

Richard stared at the screen.

His face drained of all color.

“It’s empty,” Richard whispered.

“What?” Serena demanded, stepping closer.

“The account is empty!” Richard screamed, throwing the phone against the side of the van where it shattered. “Where is the money, Carter?”

My father smiled faintly.

“I’m an accountant, Richard. I don’t just hold money. I invest it.”

Marco let out a breathy, painful laugh from the ground. “Where did you invest it, Bill?”

“I bought a building,” my father said simply. “Through a blind trust. I bought the building that housed Antonio’s first restaurant. The land beneath it. And I placed the deed in a trust.”

The truth hit me like a physical blow.

“You own the Brooklyn property?” I gasped.

“No, Lily,” my father looked at me with immense pride. “You do.”

Richard froze.

Serena let out a horrified gasp. “The girl owns the land? Then the sale contract we forced Maria to sign…”

“Is completely worthless,” Marco grinned, spitting blood onto the concrete. “Maria never owned the land. My father transferred it to Bill to protect it. And Bill put it in his daughter’s name.”

Richard looked like a cornered animal. His master plan, years in the making, was disintegrating in seconds.

He raised the gun, aiming it squarely at my chest.

“Then I’ll just kill the landowner,” Richard sneered. “And the trust will default to the state.”

Marco roared, lunging upward, but the thug with the steel pipe kicked him brutally back to the ground.

I squeezed my eyes shut, throwing my arms around my father.

BANG.

The gunshot echoed over the water.

But I didn’t feel anything.

I opened my eyes.

Richard was staring down at his shoulder. A blossoming stain of red soaked through his expensive gray suit. He dropped the gun, screaming in agony.

Standing at the entrance of the docks, holding a smoking hunting rifle, was a woman.

She was seventy-seven years old, her hair wild, her dress stained with basement dust.

Maria DeLuca racked the bolt of the rifle.

“Get away from my family,” Maria said, her voice echoing with the authority of a queen.

Behind her, the wail of police sirens filled the air. Red and blue lights illuminated the shipping yard.

Dominic ran out from behind the police cars, pointing frantically at Richard’s thugs.

“They’re over there! Arrest them!” Dominic yelled.

The police swarmed the docks. Richard’s thugs dropped their weapons immediately, throwing their hands in the air.

Serena tried to run toward the street, but two female officers tackled her to the hood of a cruiser, snapping handcuffs onto her wrists.

Marco struggled to his knees.

I ran to him, helping him stand.

“You’re okay,” I cried, wrapping my arms around his waist to support him.

Marco pulled me against him, burying his face in my hair. “You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Maria walked over, lowering the rifle. She looked at my father.

“Bill,” Maria said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “You saved us. Again.”

My father smiled gently, though the clarity in his eyes was already beginning to fade. “Antonio… always made the best Sunday sauce.”

Maria hugged him tightly. “He did, Bill. He did.”

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