Chapter 7 - WHAT SHE SAVED
“No!”
I shot Lorenzo in the shoulder.
He fell backward.
His remaining men ran.
Luca crawled toward Beatrice.
I kicked Lorenzo’s gun away.
He was conscious.
Barely.
He smiled through clenched teeth.
“You won't kill me.”
“You sound confident.”
“You need answers.”
He was right.
I hated him for that.
I tied his hands with a plastic restraint.
Then ran to Beatrice.
She was gripping her side.
Blood covered her fingers.
“Look at me.”
“I'm looking.”
“Stay awake.”
“I'm sixty-two, not ninety.”
Her voice shook.
Luca pressed cloth against the wound.
“The bullet went through.”
I checked.
He was right.
Bad.
But survivable.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Beatrice smiled weakly.
“I called 911 before I hit him.”
I stared at her.
“You called the police?”
“Yes.”
“You kidnapped a mafia boss from kidnapping,” she muttered. “I figured paperwork was already going to be complicated.”
Despite everything, Luca smiled.
We got Beatrice to the hospital.
Lorenzo disappeared before police arrived.
One of his men had cut his restraints and pulled him out through the loading dock.
That meant the war wasn't over.
It had barely started.
Beatrice survived surgery.
At three that morning, Luca and I sat alone in the waiting room.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, he looked at me.
“You really didn't know?”
“No.”
“All those years?”
“No.”
He stared at his hands.
“I hated you.”
“I figured.”
“I stayed alive because I wanted to kill you someday.”
“That’s touching.”
He almost smiled.
Then stopped.
“I remember Dad.”
I turned.
“What?”
“The ledger.”
My pulse jumped.
Luca closed his eyes.
“He gave it to me at the mansion.”
“What did he say?”
“‘This book can burn the family down.’”
“Where did you take it?”
“I don't know.”
“Try.”
“I have tried for twelve years.”
He rubbed his temples.
“Every time I get close, I smell smoke.”
I softened my voice.
“Then don't force it.”
He looked at me.
“You need what's inside.”
“I need you alive more.”
His eyes changed.
That was the first moment he believed me.
Not completely.
But enough.
The next afternoon, Beatrice woke.
Her first question was about Luca.
Her second was about food.
“You people waste too much.”
I stared at her.
“You were shot yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You nearly died.”
“Yes.”
“And you're complaining about my groceries.”
“Your chef threw away an entire tray of salmon last Tuesday.”
Luca laughed from the corner.
Then Beatrice’s smile faded.
“There’s something I never told you.”
I sat beside her.
“About what?”
“Your mother.”
My chest tightened.
“What about her?”
“She knew Luca survived.”
Luca stood.
“What?”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Three years after the explosion, your mother found me.”
Neither of us spoke.
“She begged me to keep him hidden.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody had threatened Isabella.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“She wouldn't say.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“But before she left, she gave me something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“She said only one person should open it.”
I looked at Luca.
“Who?”
May you like
Beatrice turned toward me.
“You.”
