Chapter 6 - WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUTDarkness swallowed the dining room.
My mother’s muffled cries came from somewhere behind me.
Marco gasped beneath my hands.
“Stay with me,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“You can apologize later.”
Emergency lights flashed red near the exits.
Gunfire erupted from the kitchen.
Glass shattered.
Men shouted in Italian.
I crawled toward Table Seven, keeping low as bullets struck the walls.
“Mom!”
A hand grabbed my ankle.
I kicked blindly.
“It’s me,” Rosa whispered.
She pulled me behind an overturned table.
“Where’s Eleanor?”
“Near the window.”
Rosa spoke into her radio.
“Civilian on the north side. Marco is down.”
Another burst of gunfire answered.
Dante’s voice came through my earpiece.
“Emma, respond.”
“I’m here.”
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Stay with Rosa.”
“Vittorio said my father is alive.”
Silence.
“Dante?”
“I heard him.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
A man appeared between two tables.
Rosa fired once.
He dropped.
I had never seen someone shot before.
The reality was not cinematic.
It was fast, loud, and horrifyingly final.
My body froze.
Rosa gripped my face.
“Look at me.”
I forced my eyes toward hers.
“You can fall apart later. Right now, your mother needs you.”
We moved together.
My ribs screamed, but adrenaline carried me.
At Table Seven, the chair was empty.
A cut section of rope lay on the floor.
“Mom?”
A hand reached from beneath the tablecloth.
My mother crawled out.
I ripped the tape from her mouth.
“Emma.”
She wrapped both arms around me.
For one breath, I was eight years old again, believing my mother could protect me from everything.
Then she whispered, “Your father is alive.”
The words separated us.
“You knew?”
“Not until last year.”
“You knew for a year?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
A crash sounded from the kitchen.
Rosa fired toward the doorway.
“We need to move.”
My mother’s legs were weak from sedation. Rosa supported one side while I supported the other.
We reached the service corridor.
Luca waited near the loading exit.
“Vehicle is ready.”
“Where’s Dante?” I asked.
“Upstairs.”
“Vittorio?”
“Also upstairs.”
I looked toward the stairwell.
Luca stepped in front of me.
“No.”
“Dante went after him.”
“That is exactly why you are leaving.”
“I need answers.”
“You need a hospital.”
My mother clutched my arm.
“Emma, please.”
A gunshot echoed above us.
Then another.
The lights came back.
For one instant, everyone stopped.
The chandelier blazed over the ruined dining room.
Tables overturned.
Wine pouring from shattered bottles.
Marco unconscious beneath the balcony.
And Vittorio standing at the top of the stairs with a pistol aimed downward.
Dante emerged behind him.
Vittorio turned.
They faced each other across the landing.
“Nephew,” Vittorio said.
“Uncle.”
“You always did prefer dramatic entrances.”
“You kidnapped a sick woman.”
“I needed your attention.”
“You had it.”
Vittorio’s gaze moved toward me.
“Ask him where Thomas Foster has been hiding.”
Dante did not look away from his uncle.
“I don’t know.”
“Another lie from a Moretti.”
My mother spoke beside me.
“Thomas is in federal protection.”
Vittorio smiled.
“Was.”
My mother’s face changed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he left protection six days ago.”
“Why?”
“To find the evidence that would free his son.”
Liam.
My father had returned for Liam.
After twenty-two years.
Dante raised his weapon.
“Put the gun down.”
Vittorio laughed.
“You believe you can become legitimate by selling hotels and funding hospitals. But blood doesn’t become clean because you wash your hands.”
“I am not asking twice.”
“You never understood your father. Salvatore knew fear was the only currency that never lost value.”
“My father died afraid.”
Vittorio’s smile vanished.
Dante continued.
“He died knowing I had found Sofia’s letters. He died knowing I understood he had sent her back to her husband to avoid embarrassment.”
Something dark passed across Vittorio’s face.
“You blame the dead because the living frighten you.”
“No. I blame the living too.”
Vittorio fired.
Dante moved.
The bullet struck the railing.
Luca returned fire, but Vittorio disappeared behind the wall.
Dante pursued him.
I broke away from my mother.
“Emma!” Rosa shouted.
I reached the stairs before anyone caught me.
On the second floor, office doors stood open.
A window had been shattered at the end of the hall.
Dante stood beside it, looking down at the alley.
“He escaped,” he said.
“Where?”
“A waiting vehicle.”
“You let him get away?”
His eyes flashed.
“I chose not to fire through a window with pedestrians below.”
I stopped.
My anger had become a reflex.
Dante walked toward me.
“You should not be here.”
“My father is alive.”
“Yes.”
“My mother knew.”
“Yes.”
“Vittorio knows where he is.”
“Probably.”
“And Jake?”
“Being transferred to police custody.”
I almost laughed.
“You think the police can hold him?”
“Certain officers can.”
“Officers you own?”
“No.”
The answer came sharply.
“I do not own police officers.”
“But your family did.”
“Yes.”
He never tried to soften the truth.
That was becoming the most dangerous thing about him.
Behind us, Luca appeared.
“Marco’s alive. Critical, but paramedics believe the bullet passed through.”
“His son?” Dante asked.
“We located the school. The boy is gone.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Find him.”
Luca nodded.
“And Jake?”
“Police vehicle was intercepted near Canal Street.”
My stomach dropped.
“Intercepted by whom?”
“Vittorio’s men. Two officers injured. Jake escaped.”
The night had become a circle.
Every path led back to the same danger.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
A photograph showed a man standing beside the Chicago River.
Gray hair.
Heavy coat.
A face older than the one in the only family photograph my mother kept.
But I recognized his eyes.
They were mine.
Below the image were four words.
YOUR FATHER WANTS TO TALK.
A location followed.
Dante read over my shoulder.
“It’s a trap.”
“Maybe.”
“You cannot go.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“Watch me.”
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