Chapter 6 - THE MOTHER'S ROSARY
The world stopped spinning.
I stared at Margaret, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“What did you just say?” Vincent choked out, dropping the legal folder onto the floor.
Margaret unclasped the wooden rosary from her neck. It was old, the beads worn smooth from decades of prayer.
“Your mother survived the attack,” Margaret said softly, pressing the rosary into Vincent’s large, trembling hands. “The assassins believed she burned in the car crash. But Leo pulled her out before the explosion.”
Vincent turned to Leo, his eyes wide with desperate hope. “Is it true? Is she alive?”
Leo’s stone-faced demeanor finally cracked. A deep sadness filled his eyes.
“She was, Boss,” Leo said quietly. “She lived in hiding for twenty-three years. I moved her from safehouse to safehouse. But… her heart was weak from the smoke inhalation. She passed away five years ago, peacefully, in her sleep.”
Vincent let out a ragged breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He had lost her all over again.
I felt a sharp ache in my own chest. I had a mother who loved me, who sacrificed everything for me, and I had missed her by five short years.
“Why didn't she come to me?” Vincent whispered, looking at the rosary in his hands. “Why did she let me think she was dead?”
“Because it was the only way to keep you both safe,” Margaret said. “If she had resurfaced, your father would have killed her, and Vanessa’s family would have killed Emily. She watched you from afar, Vincent. She knew about your secret charities. She was so proud of the man you became.”
Vincent wiped a single tear from his cheek.
“She left this for you,” Margaret said, pointing to the rosary.
Vincent looked down at the wooden cross. He ran his thumb over the back of it, and a small, hidden latch clicked open.
Inside the hollowed-out cross was a tiny, tightly rolled piece of paper.
Vincent carefully extracted it and unrolled it.
“It’s a locker number,” Vincent said, his brows pulling together. “At the old Union Station.”
“She left her original will there,” Leo explained. “The legal documents proving the empire belonged to her bloodline, not your father’s trust. If you have that will, Vanessa’s contract is completely worthless.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened. The grief vanished, replaced by the ruthless determination of a king reclaiming his throne.
“Leo,” Vincent commanded. “Get the car.”
“Wait!” I grabbed Vincent’s sleeve. “Vanessa heard everything. She knows we’re going to the station.”
Vincent looked at my hand on his arm, then up to my face. He didn't pull away.
“You’re right,” Vincent said. “She’ll send her father’s men to intercept us.”
He turned to Leo. “Take Margaret to the safehouse. Keep her guarded. Hannah and I are going to the station.”
Ten minutes later, we were flying down the rain-slicked streets of Chicago in Vincent’s armored SUV. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows.
I sat in the passenger seat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I was still wearing my maid’s uniform.
“Are you afraid?” Vincent asked, not taking his eyes off the road.
“Yes,” I admitted honestly.
“Don't be,” he said quietly. “For six years, I failed to protect you because I didn't know who you were. I will never fail you again, Emily.”
Hearing my real name sent a jolt through my chest.
We pulled up to the rear entrance of Union Station. The massive terminal was practically empty at this hour, echoing with the sound of distant trains.
Vincent led me through the labyrinth of underground corridors until we found the old, dusty bank of lockers.
He matched the number on the paper to locker 402.
He inserted a small key Leo had given him. The lock clicked.
Vincent pulled the rusty door open. Inside rested a heavy, sealed manila envelope.
He took it out and opened it.
He pulled out the original deed to the Moretti estate and a notarized will.
“It’s here,” Vincent breathed, a fierce smile touching his lips. He looked at me. “It leaves everything to you, Emily. The house, the legitimate businesses, everything. You own it all.”
Before I could even process the magnitude of his words, a cold, mocking voice echoed down the concrete hallway.
“How touching.”
We spun around.
Standing at the end of the corridor was Vanessa.
May you like
She was no longer wearing her red evening gown. She was dressed in a sharp black suit, and she wasn't alone.
Five heavily armed men flanked her, their weapons drawn and pointed directly at us.
