Chapter 8 - THE MATRIARCH
“Marco, drop it!” Luca roared, shoving Vanessa to the grass and raising his own weapon. Marco swayed, his face pale and slick with sweat. He looked at Luca, then at the police cruisers speeding up the long driveway. “I can’t go to prison, Boss,” Marco choked out. “The Bellini family will kill me on the inside for failing tonight. I need a hostage.” He grabbed Rosa by her gray cardigan, pulling her in front of him as a human shield, pressing the gun to her head. Matteo screamed, covering his ears and falling to his knees in the wet grass. “Don’t touch him!” Rosa yelled at Marco, trying to push Matteo away to safety. “Shut up, old woman,” Marco snarled. Luca froze. He couldn’t risk the shot. The distance was too great, and Rosa was frail. Vanessa suddenly started laughing from the grass. “Shoot him, Marco! Shoot the boy and the old hag! We can still walk away from this!” I looked at the heavy wooden box still clutched in Rosa’s hands. She hadn’t dropped it once the entire night. I caught Rosa’s eye. Despite the gun against her head, the elderly woman who had raised the most feared mafia boss in Chicago was completely calm. She looked at me, then down at the box in her hands. She gave me a microscopic nod. Rosa suddenly threw her weight backward, slamming her skull directly into Marco’s broken nose. Marco howled in pain, stumbling backward. In that split second, Rosa hurled the heavy wooden box with all her strength directly at Marco’s chest. The heavy brass hinges struck him hard. He dropped his gun to catch his balance. Luca didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in three terrifying strides, driving his fist into Marco’s jaw. The security chief collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground. The police cruisers smashed through the iron gates, skidding to a halt on the wet grass. Officers swarmed out, weapons drawn, yelling commands. Luca slowly raised his hands, dropping his weapon. He didn’t look at the police. He looked at the little boy kneeling in the wet grass. Matteo looked back at him, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. Luca slowly lowered himself onto one knee, ignoring the police lights and the shouting officers. He held out his arms. For a long moment, Matteo hesitated. He looked at me. I gave him a gentle, encouraging smile and nodded. Matteo ran. He crashed into Luca’s chest, wrapping his small arms tightly around his father’s neck. Luca buried his face in his son’s dark hair, his massive shoulders shaking as he wept openly in front of the entire world. “I’ve got you,” Luca whispered fiercely into the night. “I’ve got you, my son. You’re safe now. You’re never going back in the dark.” Rosa stood nearby, leaning on my arm, watching them with tears in her eyes. She reached down and picked up the splintered remains of the wooden box. Antonio Moretti’s final wish had been fulfilled. The truth was out. The boy was safe. And the Bellini empire was finished.
