Chapter 7 – THE FIRE IN THE WAREHOUSE
Luciano laughed, a cruel, echoing sound. “Look at the bravery of the Caruso bloodline. It’s pathetic.”
Frank pushed the gun harder against my mother’s head. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing.
“Claire, run!” my mother screamed. “Don’t do this!”
“Shut up, Margaret,” Frank snarled. He looked at me with pure hatred. “I lost everything because of you. I lost my standing in the family. I lost my wife. I lost twenty-three years looking over my shoulder.”
“You lost it because you’re a coward,” Elena spat in Neapolitan. “You were ordered to kill a baby, and your wife had the courage you lacked.”
Luciano walked toward me, tapping the red ledger against his palm.
“Brave words for dead women,” Luciano said. “I have the book. The cops are on my payroll. Vincent’s empire is mine. You’re just loose ends now.”
“You don’t have the real ledger,” I said evenly.
Luciano stopped. “What did you say?”
“Answer One, Open Two,” I quoted Elena, staring directly at her. She smiled faintly.
I looked back at Luciano. “Did you really think a mafia boss’s wife would hide twenty years of blackmail material in a bag of flour? That book is a fake. It’s full of dummy accounts.”
Luciano frowned. He opened the ledger, scanning the pages furiously.
“She’s lying,” Frank yelled. “Shoot her!”
“I memorized the real account numbers,” I lied, my voice steady, praying Anthony was making his move in the shadows. “The offshore accounts. The routing numbers. If you kill me, you get nothing but empty warehouses.”
Luciano hesitated. Greed flickered in his eyes. He stepped closer to me. “Tell me the numbers.”
“Let them go first.”
“I don’t make deals with waitresses.” Luciano pulled his own gun, aiming it at my chest. “You have three seconds. One.”
I held my breath.
“Two.”
BANG.
The gunshot echoed like a cannon blast, but it didn’t come from Luciano.
Luciano screamed, dropping his gun as his right knee shattered. He collapsed to the concrete floor in a pool of blood.
From the catwalk above, Vincent Caruso stepped out of the shadows, a smoking sniper rifle in his hands.
“Nobody points a gun at my granddaughter,” Vincent’s voice thundered through the warehouse.
Chaos erupted.
Luciano’s remaining guards raised their weapons toward the catwalk, but Anthony burst through the side door, dual-wielding pistols. He moved with terrifying precision, dropping three guards before they could even pull their triggers.
Frank panicked. He grabbed my mother by her hair, pulling her up as a human shield, aiming his gun wildly at Anthony.
“Back off!” Frank screamed. “I’ll blow her head off!”
“Frank, please!” my mother cried.
I was ten feet away. I didn’t have a gun. I didn’t have a weapon.
But I had the heavy silver tray from Romano’s, abandoned on a nearby catering table Luciano’s men had been using for coffee.
I grabbed the tray, spun around, and hurled it with everything I had.
The heavy silver disc flew through the air and struck Frank square in the face. His nose shattered with a sickening crunch. He stumbled backward, dropping his weapon.
My mother broke free, falling to the floor.
Anthony stepped forward and aimed his pistol at Frank’s chest.
“Please,” Frank begged, raising his bloody hands. “Anthony, we’re family.”
“Not anymore,” Anthony said.
He fired once.
Frank collapsed to the floor, dead.
The warehouse fell silent, save for Luciano groaning in pain on the ground.
Vincent descended the metal stairs as quickly as his age allowed. He threw his rifle aside and ran to Elena. He pulled a knife, cut her bonds, and pulled her into a desperate, crushing embrace.
“I thought I lost you,” Vincent cried, burying his face in her neck.
“You’re a stubborn old fool,” Elena whispered, crying as she held him. “I told you I’d never leave you.”
I rushed to my mother, pulling the tape off her hands. We collapsed into each other’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’m so sorry, Claire,” my mother wept. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.”
“You saved my life,” I whispered, holding her tight. “You’re my mother. Always.”
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