Chapter 8 – The True Mother

The bullet shattered the concrete inches from Arthur’s foot.

He jumped back, dropping his umbrella in shock. His two bodyguards instantly drew their weapons and aimed them at me.

“Emily!” Elena screamed, recognizing me from her hidden watches over the house.

My hands were shaking violently, but I kept the gun pointed at Arthur’s chest.

“Drop the gun, Arthur,” I yelled, my voice cracking but loud.

Arthur recovered quickly. He let out a dark chuckle. “The little maid. You missed, sweetheart.”

“I won’t miss again,” I lied. I had never fired a gun in my life until two seconds ago.

“Shoot her,” Arthur ordered his men.

Before they could pull their triggers, the glass doors of the terminal exploded inward.

Luca’s armored SUV smashed through the entrance, sliding across the wet marble floor and slamming into the ticket booth.

Luca and Marco leapt out of the vehicle before it had even fully stopped, rifles raised.

“Drop them!” Luca roared.

Arthur’s bodyguards, seeing they were outgunned by the furious mafia boss, immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands.

Arthur froze, his face pale as he looked at the barrels pointed at him.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He marched forward, grabbed Arthur by the collar, and threw him forcefully against the concrete pillar.

“It’s over, Arthur,” Luca growled, pressing the barrel of his rifle under Bellini’s chin. “You lost.”

Marco rushed forward and cut the zip ties binding Teresa. The old woman gasped, pulling Marco into a fierce hug.

But Luca’s eyes left Arthur.

He turned slowly toward the frail figure kneeling on the cold platform.

“Elena,” Luca whispered, dropping his rifle.

He fell to his knees in the puddles of rain, pulling his wife into his arms. Elena buried her face in his neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry, Luca,” she cried. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was keeping Isabella safe.”

“You are safe,” Luca cried, holding her face, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Nobody is ever touching you again.”

I lowered my gun, tears streaming down my own face.

Suddenly, tiny footsteps echoed across the platform.

Isabella had climbed out of the truck. She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her.

“Mamma!” she screamed.

Elena looked up. A sound of pure, agonizing joy tore from her throat.

She caught her daughter, wrapping her arms tightly around the little girl. Isabella buried her face in her mother’s coat, weeping loudly.

“Ti amo, mamma,” Isabella sobbed. I love you, mommy.

“Anche io ti amo, bambina mia,” Elena whispered into her hair. I love you too, my baby.

For the first time in seven months, the fractured Moretti family was whole again.

Luca looked up at me from the ground. His dark eyes were filled with an overwhelming, profound gratitude.

“Thank you,” he mouthed silently.

The police arrived minutes later, tipped off by Marco. Arthur Bellini and his men were dragged away in handcuffs. The nightmare was finally ending.

We drove back to the mansion as the sun began to rise, painting the Chicago skyline in soft hues of pink and gold.

Elena was placed in the master bedroom. A private doctor was called immediately to begin her recovery. Teresa sat by her bedside, holding her hand.

I was in the kitchen, making a pot of chamomile tea, when Luca walked in.

He looked exhausted, battered, but utterly at peace.

“How is she?” I asked softly.

“She’s sleeping,” Luca smiled. “Isabella hasn’t let go of her hand for two hours.”

He walked over to the counter and stood beside me.

“You risked your life for my family tonight, Emily,” Luca said quietly. “You gave my daughter her mother back.”

“I just did what was right,” I smiled softly.

“I want you to stay,” Luca said, pulling a small, familiar object from his pocket.

It was my grandmother’s old pocket watch. The one Arthur had used to blackmail me.

“Your grandmother made a mistake thirty years ago,” Luca said gently. “But you paid her debt tonight.”

He handed the watch back to me.

But as my fingers brushed the metal casing, the back popped open.

A small, tightly folded piece of paper fell onto the counter.

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