Chapter 3 - THE GOLD RING AND THE ROSARY
Frank stepped into the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. The hallway light caught the dull metal of the suppressor on his pistol.
I backed up until the edge of the mattress hit the back of my knees. My hand tightened around the birth certificate and the silver necklace.
“You’re supposed to be with Vincent,” I whispered, my voice shaking so badly I could barely form the words. “Another guard had a gun to your head.”
Frank let out a low, humorless chuckle. He rubbed his scarred chin with his free hand. “Vincent’s getting old, kid. His reflexes aren't what they used to be. And the younger guard? He works for me. He’s been working for me since Vincent started going soft.”
My blood ran cold. Frank wasn't just a bodyguard. He was staging a coup.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
“To finish the job I botched twenty years ago,” Frank said plainly. He walked slowly toward me, the gun pointed squarely at my chest. “You see, Anthony was wrong. Elena didn't run because of the port shipments. She ran because she found out I was stealing from the shipments. If Vincent found out, he would have killed me. I was supposed to silence Elena and you that night.”
The puzzle pieces clicked together with sickening clarity.
Frank had hunted Elena down. But Maria—my mother, Sarah—had already taken me. Elena had hidden in plain sight, living in the same building as the woman who raised her daughter, suffering in silence just to remain close to me without drawing Frank’s attention.
“Where are they?” I asked, my voice rising. “Where is my mother? Where is Mrs. Russo?”
“They’re safe. For now,” Frank said. “My men picked them up from the hospital an hour ago. Maria was very accommodating once we threatened the old lady. But you’re the loose end, Anna. As long as Vincent has an heir, I can never truly take over the family.”
He raised the gun.
“You kill me, Vincent will tear the city apart looking for you,” I said, trying to buy time, looking frantically around the small bedroom for anything I could use as a weapon.
“Vincent thinks you ran away,” Frank smirked. “By the time he figures out I left the restaurant, you’ll be at the bottom of the Delaware River, just like you were supposed to be twenty years ago.”
He pulled the hammer back.
“Never confuse a man's expensive shoes with good character.”
Mrs. Russo’s voice echoed in my head. But she had taught me other things, too. She had taught me how to survive in a neighborhood where the police didn't always come when you called.
Next to the bed was a heavy, antique wooden nightstand. Resting on it was a heavy glass rosary bowl.
As Frank stepped forward, I didn't scream. I didn't beg.
I threw the heavy wool coat directly at his face.
The thick fabric draped over his head, momentarily blinding him. The gun fired, a muffled thwip, and the bullet buried itself into the mattress inches from my hip.
I lunged for the nightstand, grabbed the heavy glass rosary bowl, and swung it with all the strength in my twenty-five-year-old body.
The glass shattered against the side of Frank’s head through the coat.
He roared in pain, stumbling sideways, the gun dropping from his hand.
I didn't wait to see if he fell. I bolted out of the bedroom, sprinting down the narrow hallway of the apartment. I threw open the front door and scrambled down the three flights of stairs, nearly breaking my ankle on the landing.
I burst through the front doors of the apartment building into the freezing Philadelphia air.
I had no phone. No money. Just a birth certificate and a silver necklace clutched in my fist.
I ran down the alley, heart hammering against my ribs, expecting a bullet in my back at any second. I needed to hide. I needed to find my mother and Elena.
But where would Frank take two elderly, sick women?
I stopped behind a dumpster, gasping for air. Think. Think like a waitress who hears everything.
At the restaurant, Anthony had mentioned Frank taking over the port shipments. If Frank was running illegal cargo, he wouldn't use the Caruso family's main warehouses. He would use a secondary location.
A memory flashed in my mind.
Three weeks ago, Anthony had been sitting at his usual table at Romano’s. He had been arguing on his phone. He had sounded furious.
“I don't care what the harbormaster says, Frank. Move the shipment out of Pier 42 by midnight, or my father will gut us both.”
Pier 42.
It was an abandoned shipping terminal on the south side of the river.
I pulled my thin waitress jacket tighter around myself. I couldn't go to the police. Frank had men everywhere, and the police couldn't protect me from a mob war.
There was only one person who had the power to stop Frank.
I had to find my grandfather.
I crept out of the alley and ran toward the main avenue. I flagged down a taxi, yanking open the door before it even fully stopped.
“Romano’s Restaurant,” I gasped to the driver. “Hurry.”
The driver looked at my frantic face and hit the gas.
When we pulled up to the restaurant, I jumped out, ignoring the driver yelling for his fare.
The front doors of Romano’s were locked. The “Closed” sign was flipped. But inside, I could see the lights were still on.
I banged on the glass with both fists. “Let me in! Please!”
The door was yanked open by Anthony. He looked haggard, his tie undone, his suit jacket discarded.
When he saw me, the relief that washed over his face was profound. “Anna.”
He reached out, but I stepped back, holding up my hands.
“Don't touch me,” I said fiercely. I pushed past him into the dining room.
Vincent Caruso was sitting at the head table alone. The bodyguard who had held the gun to Frank was lying unconscious on the floor in the corner.
Vincent looked up. The terrifying aura of the mafia boss was gone. He looked like an old, broken man who had just lost his entire world.
“You came back,” Vincent whispered.
“Frank is going to kill my mother,” I said, walking straight up to the table. I slammed the birth certificate and the silver necklace onto the white linen. “He took Sarah, and he took Elena. He’s holding them at Pier 42. He just tried to shoot me in my apartment.”
Vincent stared at the silver necklace. His hand reached out, his thick fingers trembling as he touched the blue stone.
“Frank took Elena?” Vincent asked, his voice cracking.
“He admitted he’s been stealing from you for twenty years,” I said, not backing down. “He was supposed to kill me and Elena that night to cover his tracks.”
Vincent slowly stood up.
The broken old man vanished. The Don returned.
His eyes turned to slate. He looked at Anthony.
“Call the men,” Vincent commanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum. “Call everyone.”
“Dad, Pier 42 is heavily fortified,” Anthony warned. “If we go in hot, Frank will kill them before we reach the door.”
“I don't care if he has a private army,” Vincent snarled. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a heavy black pistol, racking the slide with a terrifying metallic clack.
He turned his gaze to me.
“You are a Caruso,” Vincent said, his eyes burning into mine. “We do not let anyone take our family.”
But before we could move, the double doors of the kitchen swung open.
May you like
Standing there was the head chef of Romano’s, holding a ringing cell phone. He looked completely terrified.
“Mr. Caruso,” the chef stammered. “It’s for you. It’s Frank.”
