Chapter 11 – THE FINAL TRUTH
My blood ran cold.
“What are you doing in my house?” I demanded, gripping the handle of my purse tightly.
Caterina took a slow sip of her tea. “I came to say goodbye. And to retrieve something Vincent promised me.”
“Vincent is dead,” I spat. “And I know the truth, Caterina. I read the will. I know you stole Serena.”
Caterina’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, Evelyn. You really are so wonderfully naive.”
She stood up and walked over to the fireplace mantel, looking at a framed photo of Anna.
“I didn’t steal Serena,” Caterina said softly. “Margaret Vale sold her to me.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “What?”
“Margaret was a drug addict, Evelyn. She needed money. She sold me her newborn daughter for ten thousand dollars, and then she went to the press the next day playing the weeping victim to avoid police scrutiny.”
“You’re lying,” I said, stepping backward.
“Does it matter?” Caterina shrugged. “Vincent believed the child was Marco’s. And for thirty years, it kept me protected, funded, and relevant to the Moretti family.”
She turned to look at me, her dark eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.
“But that is old history. I am here for the ledgers.”
My stomach dropped. “The ledgers are with the District Attorney.”
Caterina laughed. “No, they aren’t. Frank gave the DA copies. I know your mother, Evelyn. She would never give up the originals without keeping leverage. She hid the real ledgers in this house. Vincent told me before he died.”
She pulled a silenced pistol from her coat pocket and aimed it directly at my chest.
“Where are they?”
I stared down the barrel of the gun. The woman who had orchestrated this entire nightmare was standing in my living room, ready to kill me for a stack of old books.
“They’re in the floorboards under the master bed,” I lied smoothly.
Caterina smiled. “Lead the way.”
I turned and walked slowly toward the staircase. My mind was racing. If I took her upstairs, she would realize I was lying and shoot me.
I had to do something now.
As we passed the heavy oak entryway table, I feigned a stumble, grabbing the edge of the table.
“Keep moving,” Caterina snapped.
Instead of moving forward, I grabbed the heavy bronze statue of a horse that Vincent used as a doorstop, spun around, and swung it with every ounce of strength I had left in my body.
The bronze struck Caterina hard across the temple.
The gun fired, the bullet shattering the hallway mirror, missing me by inches.
Caterina collapsed to the floor, unconscious, the gun skittering across the hardwood.
I dropped the statue, my hands shaking violently, and kicked the gun away.
I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911.
“Send the police,” I gasped into the phone. “I have an intruder.”
Ten minutes later, flashing lights filled my driveway. Paramedics loaded Caterina onto a stretcher, and police officers handcuffed her to the rails. She was going to prison for a very long time.
I stood on the porch, wrapping my cardigan tightly around me, watching the ambulance pull away.
Frank pulled into the driveway a few minutes later. He ran up the steps, checking me over frantically.
“I heard it on the scanner,” Frank said, out of breath. “Are you okay, Evie?”
“I’m fine, Frank,” I said, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s finally over.”
And it was.
Two months later, the house was sold.
Anna, David, and little Leo moved into a beautiful home in the suburbs, far away from the city and the memories of the syndicate.
Serena had hired an investigator, and while the truth about her mother selling her was devastating, she found peace in finally knowing who she was, and she moved to California to start fresh.
I bought a small, quiet cottage near Lake Michigan.
On a bright Tuesday morning, I sat on my back porch, holding a cup of coffee, listening to the sound of the waves.
I was Evelyn. Not Evelyn Moretti. Just Evelyn.
I had lost a husband, fought a mafia boss, and unearthed decades of lies.
But as I watched my daughter walk out onto the porch, carrying my smiling grandson, I knew one thing for certain.
I had won.
The End.
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