Chapter 5 – THE SHATTERED GLASS AND THE ROSARY

The gunshot was swallowed by the roar of the jet engines, but the impact was immediate.

The front tire of the Gulfstream shredded violently. The massive plane shuddered, the nose dipping downward as rubber and sparks violently sprayed across the tarmac. The pilot slammed on the brakes, sending the aircraft skidding sideways. It screeched in protest, the wings violently tipping before the plane finally ground to a violent halt at the very edge of the runway.

Marco slammed the brakes on the SUV, drifting to a stop just yards away from the smoking aircraft.

“Stay in the car, Rachel,” Luca ordered, throwing the door open.

“No!” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “That is my daughter!”

Luca didn’t argue. He signaled to his men, who were already swarming out of three trailing vehicles. They surrounded the plane with weapons drawn.

The cabin door of the jet hissed open. The metal stairs unfolded downward.

Antonio Moretti stood at the top of the stairs. He looked exactly like Luca, just thirty years older, with silver hair and eyes completely devoid of warmth. In his left hand, he held my daughter tightly by the arm. In his right hand, he held a revolver pressed to her temple.

My heart completely stopped.

“Let her go!” I screamed, trying to run forward, but Marco grabbed my waist, holding me back. “Please, she’s just a baby!”

Mia was crying loudly now, her tiny hands desperately clutching her stuffed rabbit.

“Lower your weapons, Luca!” Antonio shouted over the whining engines. “You are out of your mind! Shooting at an aircraft?”

Luca stepped forward, completely exposed. He didn’t raise his rifle. He let it hang by his side.

“The game is over, old man,” Luca said, his voice carrying an eerie, lethal calm. “You wanted the territory. You wanted the throne. But you made the mistake of stealing from a mother.”

“This child is nothing to you!” Antonio spat. “She is a maid’s brat! A peasant! You would risk the family empire for a maid?”

“She is an innocent,” Luca replied, taking another step closer to the stairs. “And she belongs to a man who took a beating at my gates tonight trying to protect what was his. Something you know nothing about.”

Antonio sneered, tightening his grip on Mia. She whimpered, looking down at me with terrified green eyes.

My eyes. She had my eyes.

“I will shoot her, Luca,” Antonio threatened, his finger resting on the trigger. “Do not test me.”

“Look at her neck, father,” Luca said softly.

Antonio frowned, glancing down at the little girl. “What?”

“Look at the chain around her neck.”

I squinted through the smoke. Hanging loosely around Mia’s neck was a long, heavy silver rosary.

I recognized it instantly. It was the same rosary I had seen in the evidence bag at the hospital. But wait—no, the object at the hospital was my grandfather’s watch. I had seen this rosary somewhere else.

On Vanessa’s dresser.

“You recognize it, don’t you?” Luca said to his father. “It’s the rosary you gave to my mother on her deathbed. The one Vanessa stole from my vault to give to the baby, to make the lie look convincing.”

Antonio stared at the silver cross, distracted for a fraction of a second.

That was all Luca needed.

Luca didn’t shoot. He dropped his rifle, reached into his coat, and threw a heavy, metallic flashbang grenade directly onto the top stair.

“Close your eyes!” Marco yelled, shoving my face into his shoulder.

A blinding, deafening explosion of white light and sound erupted.

I heard a man scream, followed by the sound of scuffling boots on metal. When I opened my eyes, Luca was already at the top of the stairs. He had tackled his father backward into the cabin.

I broke free from Marco and ran up the stairs.

The cabin was filled with smoke. Antonio was pinned to the floor by two of Luca’s guards, bleeding from his nose.

But I wasn’t looking at him.

Sitting on the floor near the leather seats, coughing and rubbing her eyes, was Mia.

I fell to my knees. The impact sent a jolt of pain up my legs, but I didn’t care. I crawled to her, my hands shaking violently as I reached out.

“Hi,” I choked out, tears blinding me. “Hi, sweet girl.”

She looked up at me, frightened. But then, she looked at my face. She looked at my eyes.

Children have an instinct. A biological tether to the heartbeat they listened to for nine months.

She didn’t pull away. She leaned forward and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck.

She smelled like baby shampoo and fear. I buried my face in her curly hair and wailed. It was a sound of three years of agonizing grief finally breaking wide open. I held her so tightly against my chest, terrified that if I let go, she would vanish into ash again.

“Mama?” she whispered softly, her little hand gripping my coat.

“Yes,” I sobbed, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her hands. “Yes, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you.”

I looked up. Luca was standing over his father, watching us. For the first time since I had met the cold, terrifying mafia boss, his eyes were wet.

“Take her to the car, Rachel,” Luca commanded gently. “I have family business to conclude.”

I scooped my daughter into my arms. She was heavy. She was real.

But as I turned to walk down the stairs, Antonio laughed weakly from the floor.

“You think this is a happy ending?” Antonio coughed, blood staining his teeth. “Vanessa didn’t act alone at the hospital, Rachel. Ask your dear husband exactly how he paid off his gambling debts three years ago.”

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