Chapter 8 - THE GRANDFATHER WHO ORDERED MY DEATH
Thomas didn't move.
Neither did I.
Carlo Dinaro looked almost eighty.
Elegant.
Gray suit.
Silver cane.
The kind of old man strangers might help across a street.
And he was pointing a gun at my eight-year-old son.
“Dad.”
Thomas's voice sounded wrong.
Young.
Shocked.
Carlo smiled.
“You've grown.”
“You staged your death.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Freedom.”
Thomas laughed bitterly.
“You left me to clean up your empire.”
“You did well.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
“And Elena's child.”
I stepped in front of Marcus as much as Russo's grip allowed.
“You wanted me dead.”
Carlo shrugged.
“I wanted complications removed.”
Thomas's face changed.
“She's your granddaughter.”
“That word means less than you think.”
Something in Thomas went cold.
I could see it happen.
But instead of exploding, he became calmer.
That frightened everyone more.
“Release Marcus.”
Carlo looked amused.
“You sound like Gabriel.”
“Maybe that's a compliment.”
The smile faded.
Carlo hated Gabriel.
That much was obvious.
Elena's ring was still in my pocket.
The real one.
Richard had the duplicate.
He inserted it into a small device.
Nothing happened.
He frowned.
Russo looked at him.
“You idiot.”
Richard's face drained.
Carlo stared at me.
“Where is the real key?”
I smiled despite my fear.
“Somewhere you can't reach.”
His eyes hardened.
“You're very much like your mother.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn't praise.”
“I'll take it anyway.”
Marcus looked at me.
He was scared.
But quiet.
Brave.
Too brave.
I hated that he'd learned bravery because adults failed him.
Thomas moved one step.
Carlo raised the gun.
“Stop.”
Thomas stopped.
Then Richard suddenly grabbed Russo.
“Let Marcus go.”
Russo stared at him.
“What?”
Richard's face changed.
For the first time, he looked like the man I'd once loved.
Not good.
Not innocent.
But human.
“He's my son.”
Carlo laughed.
“Too late for fatherhood.”
Richard shoved Russo.
Marcus broke free.
I ran.
Thomas moved.
Gunfire exploded.
I grabbed Marcus and fell behind a concrete barrier.
Thomas's men returned fire.
Police sirens screamed in the distance.
Someone had finally called them.
Marcus buried his face against me.
“Mom!”
“I've got you.”
I covered his body.
When the shooting stopped, Thomas was kneeling beside us.
Blood covered his sleeve.
“Are you hit?”
My heart stopped.
“Thomas.”
“Not mine.”
I looked.
Richard lay twenty feet away.
Bleeding.
He'd taken the bullet meant for Marcus.
Russo had been shot in the leg.
Carlo was gone.
Again.
Of course.
Richard looked toward me.
His breathing was shallow.
I crawled closer.
“Why?”
He smiled weakly.
“Maybe I wanted to do one thing right.”
Marcus started crying.
Richard looked at him.
“I'm sorry.”
My son didn't answer.
He didn't owe him one.
Paramedics arrived.
Richard survived.
So did Russo.
But Carlo escaped through a service tunnel beneath the pier.
Back at Thomas's townhouse, Marcus finally slept beside me.
I watched his chest rise and fall.
Thomas stood in the doorway.
“You should sleep.”
“I can't.”
He nodded.
After a moment, I whispered,
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming.”
“You knew I would.”
I looked at him.
Maybe I did.
He came closer.
Not too close.
“Jean.”
“Yes?”
“There's something else.”
I almost laughed.
“I am beginning to hate that sentence.”
He looked apologetic.
“The real ring.”
“What about it?”
“Elena examined it.”
My stomach tightened.
“It doesn't contain the ledger.”
I stared.
“What?”
“It contains a map.”
“To what?”
Thomas's expression darkened.
“A vault.”
“And the ledger?”
“Inside.”
I exhaled.
“Where?”
He hesitated.
May you like
Then said,
“Under the restaurant where you work.”
