Chapter 8 - THE WOODEN ROSARY
The flashing red and blue lights of the fire trucks painted the night sky in frantic, pulsing colors.
We sat on the back of an ambulance, wrapped in silver thermal blankets. The estate was a total loss, the roof caved in, sending showers of sparks into the dark air.
Marco sat beside Carmine, staring blankly at the silver bracelet in his hands.
Carmine had just told him everything. About Vanessa. About Elena. About the deal made thirty-one years ago.
Marco didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. The shock was too profound. He looked like a man who had just stepped off a cliff and was waiting to hit the ground.
“She’s my mother,” Marco whispered, his voice hollow. “The woman who tried to steal this family... the woman who just burned this house down... she gave birth to me.”
Carmine rested a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Elena was your mother,” Carmine said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. “Elena raised you. She loved you. Blood does not make a parent, Marco. Love does. Choices do. Vanessa chose power. Elena chose you.”
Marco looked at his father, his eyes searching for stability in a world that had just inverted itself.
“Where is she?” Marco asked softly. “Where is Vanessa?”
I looked away. Carmine tightened his grip on his son’s shoulder.
“The fire chief said the basement collapsed,” Carmine said quietly. “The elevator shaft was crushed. She didn’t make it out, Marco.”
Marco closed his eyes, taking a long, shaky breath. He didn’t mourn the woman he barely knew, but he mourned the tragedy of a mother he would never understand.
I pulled the thermal blanket tighter around myself. Hannah sat pressed against my side, resting her head on my shoulder. We were alive. We were safe.
A paramedic approached, checking Carmine’s vitals.
As the paramedic moved away, an older man in a tailored trench coat walked past the police barricade and approached us.
It was Paul, our cousin. The one who had placed the text messages on my plate at dinner, demanding my apology.
Paul looked at the burning house, then at Carmine.
“I heard what happened,” Paul said, his voice clipped. “The police are asking questions. The DA is already sniffing around. Without the ledger, they don't have proof, but the ports are in legal limbo because of Vanessa’s forged deeds.”
Paul looked down at Carmine, a cold calculation in his eyes.
“You’re weak right now, Carmine,” Paul stated. “The other families will see this fire as a sign of instability. You need to step down. Let me take over the syndicate until the dust settles.”
Answer one: Vanessa was gone, but the power vacuum she created immediately drew vultures from within our own family.
Open two: Was Paul acting alone, or had he known about Vanessa’s plan all along?
Carmine looked up at our cousin. He didn’t look angry. He looked exhausted.
“You knew,” Carmine said softly.
Paul’s expression didn’t change. “Knew what?”
“You knew Vanessa was going to make a move tonight,” Carmine said. “You’re the one who brought Isabella’s old text messages to dinner. You tried to humiliate her to keep everyone distracted while Vanessa secured the deeds.”
Paul adjusted his coat. “Vanessa was ambitious. She promised me the eastern shipping routes if I kept the family focused on old drama. But she’s dead now. The deal is void. I am the only logical successor.”
I felt a surge of rage. After everything we had just survived, the greed of this family was still trying to consume us.
Before Carmine could speak, Marco stood up from the bumper of the ambulance.
He walked right up to Paul. Marco was younger, taller, and fueled by a quiet, dangerous grief.
“My father is not stepping down,” Marco said, his voice possessing a terrifying, lethal calm that mirrored Carmine in his prime. “And you are not getting the eastern routes. In fact, as of tonight, you are out of this family entirely.”
Paul scoffed. “You don’t have the authority, boy.”
Marco reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a simple, wooden rosary.
I recognized it immediately. It had belonged to our grandfather, the founder of the syndicate. It was the symbol of ultimate authority within the family, passed down to the acting Don.
Carmine stared at the rosary. He hadn’t given it to Marco.
“Where did you get that?” Paul demanded, taking a step back.
“My grandmother gave it to me eighteen years ago,” Marco said smoothly. “The day of her funeral. She told me to keep it hidden until my father needed a successor who wouldn’t let the family tear itself apart.”
Marco wrapped the wooden beads around his knuckles.
“I am the successor, Paul,” Marco stated. “And my first order is your exile. If I see your face in this city tomorrow, I will handle it personally. Do you understand?”
Paul looked at the rosary, then at Carmine’s approving silence, and finally at Marco. The old guard was broken, and a new, terrifyingly focused leader had just been crowned in the ashes of the estate.
Paul swallowed hard, turned on his heel, and walked away into the flashing lights.
Marco turned back to us, unwrapping the rosary from his hand.
He looked at his father.
“It’s time to rebuild, Dad,” Marco said softly. “But we build it different this time.”
Carmine stood up, pulling his son into a fierce, proud embrace.
I watched them, tears stinging my eyes. The cycle of betrayal and secrets had finally broken.
Hannah squeezed my hand.
“Mom,” Hannah whispered, pointing toward the edge of the property.
May you like
Standing near the gate, leaning heavily on a cane, was Mrs. Bennett. She was covered in soot, but she was smiling.
And in her hand, she was holding a heavy, brass key.
