Chapter 7 - BRAINWASHED
The fog seemed to thicken, pressing down on my lungs until I couldn’t draw a breath.
I knelt on the wet concrete, my arms still outstretched, empty.
Mia was clinging to the woman who had tried to murder her twin brother hours ago. Evelyn stroked my daughter’s hair, looking down at me with an expression of supreme, victorious pity.
“You see, Elena,” Evelyn said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Blood means nothing. Constanza paid me millions, yes, but the real reward was the child. I could never have my own. I raised Mia in Italy. She knows my voice. She knows my scent. To her, you are just a frightening stranger in the dark.”
A wave of nausea hit me, followed by a surge of pure, blinding rage.
They hadn’t just stolen my daughter’s life. They had stolen her mind.
“You sick, twisted monster,” I hissed, slowly rising to my feet.
Constanza laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? The great love story of Matteo and Elena, reduced to a forgotten wife and a daughter who hates her. Now, Evelyn, put the child in the boat.”
Evelyn picked up the weeping Mia. She turned toward the edge of the pier, where a sleek, black speedboat was idling in the dark water, waiting to ferry them to the freighter offshore.
“Kill the wife,” Constanza commanded her men. “Throw her body in the harbor.”
Twelve rifles raised, taking aim at my chest.
In my earpiece, Matteo’s voice roared. “DOWN, ELENA!”
I threw myself flat on the concrete.
CRACK.
The sound of the high-caliber sniper rifle tore through the fog. The guard closest to me dropped instantly, his chest hollowed out.
Panic erupted.
Before Constanza’s men could figure out where the shot came from, the wail of sirens and the roar of heavy engines shattered the night.
Four black SUVs smashed through the chain-link gates of the pier, headlights blinding. Matteo had called the loyal capos after all. Dozens of men in black tactical gear poured out, returning fire.
The pier erupted into a warzone.
“Get her on the boat!” Constanza screamed, diving behind a metal shipping crate as bullets sparked off the steel.
I scrambled to my feet. I didn’t have a weapon, but I didn’t care.
I sprinted through the crossfire, my eyes locked on Evelyn Vance’s retreating white coat. She was carrying Mia up the metal stairs of a catwalk that led down to the boat slip.
“Evelyn!” I screamed over the gunfire.
She glanced back, her eyes widening in panic as she saw me closing the distance. She reached the top of the metal catwalk. It was slick with rain, hovering three stories above the churning, freezing water of the harbor.
I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But the phantom cries of the baby I never got to hold pushed me faster.
I reached the top of the catwalk just as Evelyn fumbled in her pocket for her gun.
She turned, pointing the weapon at me with one hand while balancing Mia on her hip with the other.
“Stay back!” Evelyn shrieked, her clinical demeanor completely shattered. “I’ll shoot you! I’ll shoot the child and blame it on you!”
“You won’t,” I said, stepping forward slowly. The wind whipped my hair across my face. Below us, the harbor churned, black and deadly. “You love her. You just said it. You wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Don’t test me, Elena!”
She backed up. But in her panic, she forgot about the rain.
Her expensive heel slipped on the wet metal grating.
Evelyn shrieked, her arms flailing as she lost her balance. The gun clattered away into the dark. She tumbled backward toward the fragile railing.
The rusty iron snapped under her weight.
Evelyn tipped backward into the abyss.
And she took Mia with her.
“MOMMY!” Mia screamed, terrified.
Time stopped.
I lunged.
I threw my body over the broken edge of the catwalk, the jagged metal tearing into my ribs.
I reached into the dark.
My fingers wrapped around a small, frantic wrist.
The sheer weight of Mia’s drop jerked my shoulder violently. I screamed in agony, feeling the socket tear, but I didn’t let go.
Below, Evelyn hit the freezing black water with a sickening splash. She never surfaced.
I lay on my stomach on the grating, half my body dangling over the edge, holding my daughter by one arm.
“I got you!” I screamed, tears blinding me. My grip was slipping. The rain made her sleeve impossibly slick. “Look at me, sweetie! Look at me!”
Mia was sobbing hysterically, dangling over the black water. She looked up.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t drop me.”
“Never,” I swore, my teeth gritted against the blinding pain in my shoulder. “I will never let you go again.”
My fingers began to slide. I was losing her.
Then, massive, bloody hands gripped my waist, pulling me back. Another hand, scarred and powerful, reached down and grabbed Mia’s jacket.
With a roar of effort, Matteo hauled us both over the edge, collapsing onto the catwalk.
We fell into a heap, gasping, shivering, alive.
Matteo pulled us both against his chest, burying his face in Mia’s wet hair, shaking uncontrollably. “I’ve got you. Papa’s got you.”
Below us, the gunfire abruptly ceased.
We climbed down the stairs. The pier was quiet. The syndicate guards had surrendered.
Lying on the wet concrete, coughing up blood, was Constanza. She had taken a stray bullet to the chest.
Matteo stood over his mother, his face devoid of emotion.
Constanza looked up at him, her teeth stained red, a vicious smile playing on her lips.
“You won the battle, my son,” she wheezed. “But you lost the war.”
May you like
Matteo frowned. “It’s over, Mother.”
“Is it?” Constanza laughed, a wet, terrible sound. She held up a small, black detonator. The red light was active. “I had a backup plan. The old boathouse at the estate. Where you sent the boy. It’s rigged with C4.”
