Chapter 5 - THE WOLF BRACELET
The silence in the room shattered into sheer terror.
Luca froze, his dark eyes fixed on the gun barrel pointed at his heart. He didn't raise his hands. He just looked at the man who had guarded his life for a decade.
"Marco," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You’re breaking a lot of vows tonight."
"Vows don't pay off Romano debts, Luca," Marco sneered, his hand trembling slightly. "Vanessa and I were supposed to be on a train to Montreal. You just had to eat the damn ravioli, didn't you?"
"You betrayed this family for a woman who was going to leave you the second she crossed the border?" Luca asked.
"She loves me!" Marco shouted.
"She loves herself," Mrs. Caruso spoke up, her voice surprisingly steady for a seventy-four-year-old woman. She slowly reached into her purse. "And you are a fool, Marco."
"Keep your hands where I can see them, old woman!" Marco barked, shifting his aim toward her.
That was the mistake.
In the fraction of a second Marco’s eyes left Luca, the mafia boss moved with lethal, blinding speed. Luca grabbed the heavy silver candlestick from the dining table and swung it upward.
The heavy base cracked against Marco’s wrist. The gun fired into the ceiling, showering plaster over the white roses, before clattering to the marble floor.
Luca drove his knee into Marco’s stomach, sending the traitor crashing to the ground. Within seconds, three of Luca’s loyal men burst into the room and pinned Marco down.
I scooped little Leo into my arms, pressing his face into my shoulder so he wouldn't see the violence.
Luca straightened his suit jacket, breathing heavily. He looked at me, a profound respect settling in his eyes.
"You saw the bracelet," Luca said.
"I saw a photo in her trash can," I admitted, my heart still racing.
Luca nodded. He walked over to Mrs. Caruso, who was calmly pulling a heavy, rusted iron ring out of her purse.
"Teresa," Luca said. "What is that?"
"It’s the padlock key for the sub-basement," Mrs. Caruso said quietly. "Your father gave it to me thirty years ago. He told me to only give it to you if the Romanos ever tried to take the building."
Luca took the iron ring. He looked at the tiny silver key from the pocket watch.
"Emma," Luca said, turning to me. "Bring Leo. We are going to Little Italy."
Twenty minutes later, a convoy of black SUVs pulled up to the dark, quiet street in front of Caruso’s Restaurant. The neon sign buzzed faintly in the freezing wind.
Mrs. Caruso unlocked the front doors. The smell of garlic, old wood, and decades of family dinners filled the air. She led us through the kitchen and down a narrow flight of wooden stairs into the dark, damp cellar.
Behind rows of dusty wine bottles and curing meats stood a heavy steel door, rusted with age.
Luca inserted the heavy iron key into the padlock. It clicked open.
He pulled the door back, revealing a small, windowless concrete room.
Sitting in the center of the room, under a single, bare lightbulb, was a massive vintage safe.
Luca stepped forward, inserting the tiny silver key from his father's watch into the dial.
He turned it. The heavy steel bolts clacked backward.
Luca pulled the safe open, and the breath left his lungs.
"My God," Luca whispered.
May you like
It wasn't money. It wasn't weapons.
It was a stack of old, fading photographs. And sitting on top of them was a heavy, ornate wooden rosary.
