Chapter 10 - THE SHOT
I reached Isabella before I heard anyone shouting.
“Bella.”
She was on the floor.
Mia beside her.
For one terrible second, I saw blood.
Then Isabella pushed me away.
“It’s not mine.”
I looked.
Paolo had been hit in the shoulder.
The bullet that sounded closest to us came from an agent.
Isabella had dropped because Mia pulled her down.
No wound.
No blood.
Alive.
I grabbed Isabella’s face in both hands.
She flinched.
Not from pain.
From me.
That stopped me.
I released her immediately.
“Sorry.”
Her eyes changed.
Maybe she noticed.
Maybe it was too small to matter.
Agents arrested Paolo.
Mia stared at him as paramedics treated his shoulder.
“He knew my mother?”
Paolo looked at her.
For the first time, something like shame crossed his face.
“Lucia loved you.”
Mia’s lips trembled.
“You watched her die.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Mia slapped him.
No one stopped her.
Then she stepped back.
“I hope prison is long enough for you to remember her every day.”
Paolo said nothing.
Paramedics checked Isabella.
Bruising around one wrist.
Dehydration.
Exhaustion.
Nothing severe.
Physically.
Emotionally was another matter.
At the hospital, I sat outside her room.
Not inside.
She had asked for space.
A year earlier, I would have interpreted that as rejection.
Then overridden it.
Now I sat.
Marco joined me.
“Agents have Paolo’s statement.”
“Good.”
“Salvatore ordered Lucia killed because she had evidence against him.”
“And Vittorio?”
“Apparently he believed she escaped overseas.”
I stared at the floor.
“My father hunted her.”
“Yes.”
“But didn’t kill her.”
“No.”
That did not absolve him.
It only made the family history more precise.
Marco continued.
“Paolo says Salvatore convinced Vittorio Lucia had abandoned you.”
I laughed quietly.
Everyone in my childhood had been manipulated by men protecting power.
Maybe that was why I learned to do the same.
Then the hospital door opened.
Mia stepped out.
My sister.
I had no idea what to say.
She looked at me.
“You really are him.”
“Who?”
“Lucia’s son.”
“Yes.”
She studied my face.
“You look like her too.”
My throat tightened.
“Serena said you didn’t know about me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Would you have looked for me?”
“Yes.”
She raised one eyebrow.
I corrected myself.
“I’d like to believe I would have.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her more.
Then she said:
“Isabella wants to see you.”
I stood.
Inside, my wife sat beside the window wearing hospital clothes.
No makeup.
Hair tied loosely.
Beautiful.
Alive.
I stayed near the door.
“You can come closer,” she said.
I moved halfway.
Stopped.
She noticed.
“Marco told me you gave the ledger to investigators.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“Even the parts about you?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“Why?”
I wanted to say because of you.
But that would have been another way of making her responsible for my choices.
“Because it was the right thing.”
She nodded slowly.
Then she looked away.
“I’m glad.”
Silence.
I finally said:
“Come home.”
Her face changed.
And I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing.
Not because she hated me.
Because I still assumed surviving danger erased the reason she left.
“Luca.”
I closed my eyes.
“Right.”
She looked at me.
“I was kidnapped after I left you.”
“Yes.”
“That does not mean leaving you was a mistake.”
The sentence cut cleanly.
I nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I forced myself to say it.
“Yes.”
May you like
She took a breath.
“I’m not coming home.”
