Chapter 8 – THE FAMILY HEIRLOOM

Teresa Moretti gripped the mahogany railing, her posture commanding and absolute.

Answer one: Teresa hadn’t just recovered her speech. She had been faking the severity of her condition for months, watching, listening, and waiting for the traitors to reveal themselves.

“You underestimate the women in this house, Falcone,” Teresa declared, her voice ringing clear and strong.

Red laser dots danced across the chests of the New York soldiers. Falcone realized instantly that he had walked into a fatal trap.

“You set me up,” Falcone hissed, glaring at Luca.

“You broke into my home,” Luca corrected, his shotgun raising again. “My mother simply ensured you wouldn’t leave. Drop the guns, or die on my floor.”

The New York soldiers, realizing they were outgunned by the hidden snipers, slowly placed their weapons on the marble.

“It doesn’t matter,” Falcone sneered, raising his hands in mock surrender. “The microfiche is destroyed. You have no money, Luca. And your precious Elena is still hiding in a convent.”

“Elena isn’t hiding,” Teresa said smoothly, descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps.

She reached the bottom and looked directly at Falcone.

“Elena died three years ago, Falcone,” Teresa revealed, the truth finally breaking the silence. “Cancer. Just like Arthur Collins. They lived out their final years in peace, protected by the church, completely free of you.”

The entire room fell utterly silent.

The big secret was out. My father hadn’t abandoned us for a scandalous affair. He had sacrificed his reputation to protect a dying woman from the ruthless mafia machine, giving her two years of peace before her illness took her.

“The money Arthur stole?” Teresa continued, a proud smile touching her lips. “He donated it all to the orphanage at St. Jude’s. You spent five years hunting a ghost and a charitable donation.”

Falcone’s face twisted in pure, impotent rage. He had lost everything.

“Daniel,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. “Hand Falcone and his men over to the FBI. An anonymous tip about a heavily armed home invasion. Let the feds bury them.”

As the guards dragged the cursing New York boss out the doors, the oppressive, terrifying weight that had hung over the mansion finally lifted.

I ran to my mother, throwing my arms around her, sobbing with relief.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I wept.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Hannah,” my mother smiled, kissing my forehead. “Your father was a hero. And so are you.”

Luca walked over to us. He didn’t look like a feared mob boss anymore. He looked like a man who had finally found peace.

“Mrs. Collins,” Luca said respectfully. “My family will provide for you. A safe home, excellent medical care. You will never have to worry again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moretti,” my mother said gratefully.

Luca turned his dark, intense eyes to me.

“And you, Hannah,” Luca said softly, his voice dropping to a register meant only for me. “You are officially relieved of your housekeeping duties.”

I swallowed hard, looking down. “I understand. I’ll pack my things.”

“No,” Luca reached out, gently lifting my chin so I had to look at him. “You aren’t packing anything. I want you to stay. As my equal. As my partner.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Before I could answer, a small voice called out from the hallway.

“Hannah?”

Sophie, rubbing her tired eyes, walked into the foyer holding a small, velvet box.

TITLE: THE POCKET WATCH

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