Chapter 4 – THE MATRIARCH’S BETRAYAL

Luca stared at the wooden beads in my shaking hand.

His mother, Carmela Moretti, was a ghost in Chicago. She lived in a heavily guarded estate in the suburbs, devoutly religious, spending her days in prayer. She despised the violence of the family business. She had publicly blamed the syndicate for the death of her eldest son, Marco.

She hadn’t spoken to Luca in three years.

“She’s here,” I whispered, staring at the worn grooves on the wooden cross.

Frank took the rosary from my hand, his face pale under the fluorescent lights of the laundry room. “Carmela wouldn’t be part of this, Luca. She loved Marco. She loves Leo.”

“That’s exactly why she’s part of it,” Luca said, his voice dangerously quiet. “She blames me for Marco’s death. She thinks the life will kill Leo, too.”

He looked up toward the ceiling. Four floors up.

“She didn’t align with Vanessa’s family to take over the syndicate. She aligned with them to destroy it. She’s using Adrian to take Leo away from me.”

The reversal hit me like a physical blow.

Vanessa wasn’t the mastermind. Adrian wasn’t the mastermind.

The grieving, pious grandmother was orchestrating the fall of her own remaining son.

We moved to the service elevator. I pressed the button, and we waited in agonizing silence as the carriage descended.

“When the doors open on the fourth floor,” Frank whispered, pulling a heavy black pistol from his shoulder holster, “stay behind me, Emma.”

“No guns,” Luca ordered instantly. “My mother and my nephew are in that room. Nobody fires a weapon. Understood?”

Frank hesitated, then slowly lowered the gun, though he didn’t put it away. “Understood.”

The elevator dinged softly. The doors slid open.

The fourth-floor corridor was silent. Thick floral carpets absorbed our footsteps as we moved toward Room 402.

I pushed my housekeeping cart—which I had grabbed from a supply closet—down the hall. It was our cover. If anyone looked out a peephole, they would just see a late-night maid.

We reached the heavy wooden door of 402.

Luca pressed his ear to the wood.

Inside, a child was crying.

It was a soft, muffled sound, but it tore at my heart. It was Leo.

I didn’t wait for Luca to give the signal. The sound of that little boy crying made me forget my fear. I knocked firmly on the door.

“Housekeeping,” I called out. “Extra towels.”

The crying stopped instantly.

Footsteps approached the door. A deep, gruff voice muttered from the other side. “We didn’t order towels. Go away.”

“Front desk said there was a spill, sir,” I replied evenly. “I have to check the carpet, or it comes out of my paycheck.”

A heavy sigh. The sound of a chain lock sliding back.

The door opened three inches.

A large man with a thick neck and a Bellini family tattoo on his wrist glared out at me.

He never even saw Luca coming.

Luca hit the door with his shoulder, driving the heavy wood straight into the man’s face. The guard stumbled backward, dropping to the floor out cold.

We burst into the room.

It was a standard suite, lit only by a bedside lamp.

Adrian Bellini was standing by the window, holding a lit cigarette, his face draining of color as he saw Luca step over his unconscious guard.

But my eyes didn’t go to Adrian.

They went to the bed.

Leo was sitting against the headboard, clutching a stuffed bear. His face was stained with tears.

And sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the boy’s hand, was an elderly woman in a black mourning dress.

Carmela Moretti.

She didn’t look surprised to see her son. She just looked tired.

“Hello, Luca,” she said calmly.

“Let him go, Ma,” Luca said. His voice was broken. Pleading.

“I am saving him,” Carmela replied. “I couldn’t save Marco. But I will save his son from becoming a monster like you.”

“You trusted the Bellinis with him?” Luca shouted, pointing at Adrian, who was backing toward the bathroom. “Adrian is a degenerate gambler! He’s using Leo as leverage to take over my territory!”

Carmela looked at Adrian with disgust. “Adrian is a fool. He was a means to an end. Once we reached Montreal, I was going to pay off his debts and take Leo to Europe. Away from all of this.”

Adrian’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? The deal was I get the Chicago territory!”

Carmela laughed bitterly. “You think I would give my family’s empire to a rat who steals from a dead man’s safe?”

She reached into her black purse.

Frank tensed, raising his gun. “Don’t do it, Carmela.”

But Carmela didn’t pull out a weapon.

She pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger.

“Every offshore account,” Carmela said, holding the book up. “Every bribed judge. Every illicit shipment for the last ten years. I kept records, Luca. And I have already mailed a copy to the FBI.”

The room went dead silent.

Carmela had burned the entire family to the ground.

“It’s over, Luca,” she said softly. “Let us walk out of here, and I will tell them you cooperated.”

Luca stood frozen, his empire crumbling in a matter of seconds.

But then, little Leo looked past his grandmother. He looked right at me.

“Emma?” the boy whimpered.

I stepped forward. I didn’t care about the FBI. I didn’t care about the mafia.

“I’m here, Leo,” I said.

And then I noticed something terrifying.

Adrian had backed completely into the bathroom.

And he wasn’t holding a cigarette anymore.

He was holding a gun.

And he was pointing it straight at Carmela’s back.

“If there’s no territory,” Adrian snarled, cocking the hammer, “then there’s no deal.”

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