Chapter 7 – Blood And Secrets

Luca moved like a shadow.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t hesitate.

As the first armed man reached for the guest house doorknob, Luca stepped out of the darkness and swung the crowbar.

It struck the man’s knee with a sickening crunch.

The man collapsed silently, his gun clattering onto the wooden porch.

The second man spun around, raising his weapon, but Luca was already there. With his good arm, he drove his elbow into the man’s throat, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the gun dropped.

Luca shoved the man off the porch into the rosebushes and stood over him, breathing heavily, blood seeping through his improvised bandage.

I didn’t wait.

I sprinted out of the bushes and up the stairs.

“Emily?” Luca gasped, leaning against the railing, his face pale with blood loss.

“They’re inside,” I said, throwing open the door.

“Mom!” I screamed into the small living room.

The guest house was quiet. Too quiet.

“Mom, please!”

A closet door under the stairs slowly creaked open.

My mother, wearing her white catering uniform, peeked out. Her face was stained with tears. She was clutching a heavy kitchen knife in trembling hands.

Behind her, hiding in the dark, was a little boy with dark hair and wide olive eyes.

“Emily?” my mother sobbed, dropping the knife.

I fell to my knees and pulled them both into a desperate hug.

Toby—Leo—buried his face in my neck. “Emmy, there were scary men outside.”

“I know, baby,” I cried, kissing his forehead. “You’re safe now.”

Footsteps sounded heavily on the porch.

My mother gasped and scrambled backward, shielding the boy.

Luca walked into the room.

He stopped dead.

For four years, Luca Moretti had visited a tiny marble grave. For four years, he had lived with a hollow, burning hole in his chest.

Now, standing in the dim light of the guest house, he stared at the boy.

Leo looked up at the towering, bleeding man.

“Are you a scary man?” Leo asked quietly.

Luca dropped to his knees. The great mafia boss, the most feared man in Chicago, began to weep.

“No, piccolo mio,” Luca choked out, holding out his trembling hands. “I am your father.”

Leo looked at me, confused.

I nodded through my tears. “It’s okay, Toby. Go to him.”

Leo took a hesitant step forward. Luca wrapped his good arm around the boy, pulling him against his chest, burying his face in his son’s hair.

Michael walked in, leaning against the doorframe, wiping his own eyes.

“He looks just like you, Luca,” Michael whispered.

For a moment, in that small room, everything felt right. The family was together. The boy was safe.

Then, the slow, agonizing sound of a slow clap echoed from the doorway.

We all turned.

Arthur Bellini stood there, leaning heavily on his cane, flanked by three more armed men.

And beside him stood Vanessa, looking completely empty.

“A touching reunion,” Arthur said coldly. “It’s a shame it has to end so violently.”

“You’re finished, Arthur,” Luca growled, standing up and pulling Leo behind him. “You don’t have enough men to get out of this city alive.”

“I disagree,” Arthur smiled. “Because the police are already on their way. And when they arrive, they will find that the deranged housemaid and her mother murdered you and your brother in a desperate extortion attempt.”

Arthur raised his hand, signaling his men to raise their weapons.

But Vanessa didn’t look at her father.

She looked at me.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Vanessa said the one thing none of us expected.

“Dad… you didn’t tell me the uncle was coming.”

Arthur frowned. “What uncle?”

From the shadows behind Arthur, a massive figure stepped onto the porch.

It was a man in a tailored gray suit, with silver hair and cold, calculating eyes.

Luca and Michael both froze in absolute shock.

“Uncle Vincent?” Luca whispered.

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