Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE BY THE LAKE
Victor did not storm the estate.
That surprised me.
The old Victor might have.
Instead, he called federal contacts, trusted attorneys, and a retired judge who apparently owed his mother a favor.
“You’re involving authorities?”
He looked at me.
“I’m trying something unfamiliar.”
“What?”
“Not solving everything with armed men.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It feels terrible.”
I smiled despite myself.
The Lake George property sat behind twelve-foot stone walls.
Surveillance showed three residents.
One older man.
One woman.
One male caretaker.
Victor stared at the woman’s image.
She looked like me.
Older.
Silver in her hair.
But unmistakably similar.
My biological mother.
Alive.
I forgot how to breathe.
Victor steadied me by the elbow.
Then immediately released me.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
I caught his hand.
“Don’t be.”
His fingers closed around mine.
For several seconds, the rest of the room disappeared.
Then Marco cleared his throat.
“Boss.”
Victor released me.
We entered the property with law enforcement.
The caretaker surrendered.
No gunfire.
No dramatic siege.
Inside, we found my mother.
Hannah DeLuca.
She stared at me from across a sunroom.
I knew her instantly.
Not because we looked alike.
Because she cried before I did.
“My baby.”
My knees gave out.
She crossed the room.
I let her hold me.
I thought I would be angry.
Instead, I became five years old inside.
“What happened to you?”
“Too much.”
“Why didn’t you come back?”
“I tried.”
Her voice broke.
“Every time we got close, someone threatened Rebecca.”
I looked around.
“Where’s Carlo?”
Her face changed.
“Gone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Dead?”
“No.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Where?”
“Salvatore moved him six months ago.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“And Salvatore?”
She looked toward the lake.
“Closer than you think.”
A door opened behind us.
An old man entered.
White hair.
Cane.
Sharp eyes.
Victor froze.
“Uncle.”
Salvatore Romano smiled.
“Victor.”
Every agent in the room raised a weapon.
Salvatore lifted both hands.
“Relax. If I wanted him dead, he would have died two years ago.”
Victor’s voice turned lethal.
“You tried.”
“No.”
“You built the network.”
“Yes.”
“You ordered the bomb.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Salvatore looked at my mother.
She shook her head.
“Tell him.”
He sighed.
“The bomb was Carlo’s.”
I stared.
“No.”
Salvatore continued.
“Carlo planted it.”
Victor stepped forward.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted you dead.”
My mother shouted:
“Liar.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Hannah.”
“Tell him the truth.”
Victor turned toward her.
“What truth?”
She looked at him.
Then at me.
“Carlo planted the bomb.”
My heart stopped.
“But not to kill Victor.”
She swallowed.
“It was meant to destroy evidence in the garage.”
Victor stared.
“My parents were inside.”
“They weren’t supposed to be.”
“Then who changed their route?”
Silence.
My mother looked at Salvatore.
Salvatore looked at the floor.
Victor understood before I did.
“You did.”
Salvatore did not deny it.
May you like
He had known the bomb was there.
And he had sent Victor’s parents toward it anyway.
