Chapter 8 - THE MOTHER WHO BETRAYED EVERYONE TO SAVE ME
Frank Cavallo kidnapped me when I was six months old.
Only for eleven hours.
I never knew.
My mother never forgot.
Grandma told us everything over the phone while Vincent’s doctor stitched his shoulder.
Frank wanted the ledger.
Caroline refused.
So he took me.
He sent her one photograph.
Me asleep in a crib.
Beside a newspaper.
And a message:
WORK FOR ME OR YOUR DAUGHTER DISAPPEARS.
My mother became his informant.
She passed harmless information at first.
Schedules.
Meetings.
Then Frank demanded more.
Gabriel eventually discovered what she was doing.
He confronted her at Dock 9.
She brought a gun because Frank told her Gabriel planned to take me away.
“He lied to her,” Grandma said.
“What happened?”
“Caroline shot.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she kill him?”
“No.”
Vincent looked up.
Grandma continued.
“The bullet hit his side.”
“So how did he die?”
“Frank’s men arrived.”
My stomach turned.
Gabriel had survived Caroline’s shot.
Frank killed him afterward.
My mother spent the rest of her life believing she had caused his death.
That explained the guilt.
The secrecy.
The panic.
Then she stole Frank’s financial records and helped Henry and Anthony hide them.
Redemption was messy.
Human.
Painful.
I held my father’s photograph.
“He knew why she did it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Anthony reached him before he died.”
“Gabriel forgave her?”
Grandma began crying.
“His last message was for Caroline.”
“What did he say?”
“Tell her Daisy is worth everything.”
I broke.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
Vincent sat beside me while I cried against his good shoulder.
No jokes.
No teasing.
Just warmth.
When I finally pulled away, I realized how close we were.
Too close.
I stood quickly.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Crying on a Mafia boss.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“That line probably works on women.”
“You proposed to me.”
“Drunk.”
“So you keep saying.”
Then his expression became serious.
“Daisy.”
“What?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“If it’s marriage, absolutely not.”
“Not marriage.”
“Good.”
“Do you trust me?”
I looked at him.
That question was harder.
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“Why?”
“Victor won’t stop.”
“I know.”
“He will target the inn again.”
“I know.”
“And you.”
“I know.”
He exhaled.
“I can protect both.”
“There’s a catch.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“Publicly maintain the engagement.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Listen.”
“No.”
“The viral story gives us cover.”
“For what?”
“If people believe the engagement is real, Cavallo assumes Bennett property is under Moretti protection.”
“It already is.”
“Unofficially.”
“And officially?”
“He risks war.”
I folded my arms.
“So I pretend to marry you to keep my inn safe.”
“Pretend to be engaged.”
“Different flavor of insanity.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Until Victor is arrested or destroyed legally.”
I stared.
“Legally?”
“I’m trying something new.”
“Good.”
He held out the ring.
The key ring.
I looked at it.
“If I put that on, America thinks I’m marrying you.”
“America already thinks that.”
“Fair.”
I slipped it onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course.
Vincent smiled.
“Careful.”
“What?”
“You look good in my grandmother’s ring.”
“Temporary.”
“Absolutely.”
“No take-backs?”
I pointed at him.
“Do not.”
He laughed.
Then Marco entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We traced Victor’s escape.”
“Where?”
“Bennett Inn.”
My blood froze.
“He’s back there?”
“No.”
Marco looked at me.
“But somebody is.”
He showed us a security image.
A woman stood inside the inn kitchen.
Older.
Blonde-gray hair.
Grandma had let her in.
I didn’t recognize her.
Vincent did.
His face changed.
“Impossible.”
“Who is she?”
He stared at the photograph.
May you like
“My mother.”
Vincent Moretti’s mother had supposedly died eighteen years ago.
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