Chapter 8 – THE HAPPY ENDING

Vincent pushed Clara behind him, his instincts flaring even without a weapon.

The SUV screeched to a halt.

The doors flew open.

But it wasn’t the Russos.

It was federal agents. Dozens of them.

An older man in a windbreaker stepped forward.

“Vincent Moretti?”

Vincent raised his hands. “I’m unarmed.”

“We know,” the agent said. “We received a package an hour ago. A very detailed ledger of the Russo family operations, along with audio recordings of Marco Russo confessing to murder.”

Vincent looked at me in shock.

I smiled.

Before I left the house, I hadn’t just grabbed Vincent’s fake ledger. I had opened the hidden floorboard beneath his desk—the one he thought I didn’t know about. I found the real Russo ledger and mailed it to the FBI field office on my way to Clara’s.

“The Russos are being arrested as we speak,” the agent continued. “But this package came with a condition. Full immunity for you and your family in exchange for testimony.”

Vincent looked at me in pure awe.

“You orchestrated this?” he asked.

“I told you,” I said, stepping beside him. “I’m done waiting for you to fix things.”

Three months later.

The brass lamp was gone.

We left it in the old house in Chicago, along with the dark memories and the blood money.

We bought a small, modest farmhouse in upstate New York.

It had a wrap-around porch and a big yard for a six-year-old boy to run in.

Vincent was sitting on the porch swing, sanding a wooden toy train for Leo.

He wore jeans and a faded flannel shirt. He looked ten years younger.

Clara was in the kitchen, baking cookies. Her laughter floated out through the open screen door.

I walked onto the porch carrying two mugs of coffee.

I handed one to Vincent.

He took it, kissing my hand before he let go.

“It’s quiet today,” he smiled.

“I like the quiet,” I said, sitting beside him.

He reached into his pocket.

“I found something while unpacking the last box.”

He held out his hand.

It was the little brass lamp.

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