Chapter 7 - THE FATHER WHO DISAPPEAREDThe location was an abandoned church in Bridgeport.
My father had once taken Liam and me there for Christmas Eve services. I remembered candle wax, wet wool coats, and his voice singing louder than everyone around him.
I had not thought about that memory in years.
By two in the morning, the rain had turned to snow.
Dante wanted to surround the church.
I refused.
“If my father has spent twenty-two years hiding from your family, he won’t walk into a building filled with your men.”
“He may not be the person who sent the message.”
“Then stay outside.”
Dante stood beside the black sedan, snow collecting on his shoulders.
“You are asking me to allow you into a possible ambush.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
“No. You are simply making reckless decisions.”
“Is that what you call it when you do it?”
“When I do it, I have a gun.”
Rosa handed me a compact pistol.
Dante glared at her.
“She knows how to use it,” Rosa said.
“I don’t.”
“You know enough not to point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot.”
I held the weapon carefully.
It felt heavier than expected.
Dante looked from Rosa to me.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Then it should feel familiar.”
His mouth almost moved.
Not quite a smile.
I entered the church alone.
Rows of dusty pews faced a dark altar. Moonlight spilled through cracked stained-glass windows, painting the floor in broken pieces of blue and red.
“Dad?”
The word felt foolish.
A figure stepped from behind the confessional.
He was older than the photograph.
Thinner.
A scar crossed his chin. Gray covered most of his beard.
But his eyes were mine.
“Emmy.”
No one had called me that since childhood.
My throat closed.
“You’re alive.”
He nodded.
“You let us think you were dead.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My mother was kidnapped tonight. Liam is in prison. My boyfriend broke my ribs and may have caused my miscarriage. Tell me which part of that was safe.”
His face collapsed.
“What boyfriend?”
“Jake Mercer.”
My father went pale.
“No.”
“You know him?”
“He worked for the task force.”
“What task force?”
“The federal investigation into the Morettis.”
My mind struggled to hold the pieces.
“Jake was a federal agent?”
“An informant. Low-level security contractor. We recruited him because he had access to the harbor.”
“He testified against Liam.”
“He was supposed to help us protect Liam.”
“Well, he failed.”
My father stepped closer.
I raised the pistol.
He stopped.
Pain crossed his face.
“You think I would hurt you?”
“I don’t know you.”
The truth wounded both of us.
He lowered his hands.
“My name is Thomas Foster. I worked financial crimes for the FBI. Twenty-two years ago, I infiltrated Salvatore Moretti’s shipping operation.”
“Dante’s father.”
“Yes.”
“Did he discover you?”
“Vittorio did.”
Snow blew through a broken side window.
My father continued.
“I had documents proving Vittorio was trafficking military weapons through humanitarian shipments. Salvatore profited from smuggling, but even he considered the weapons operation too dangerous.”
“So Vittorio betrayed his brother?”
“He planned to remove him.”
“And you?”
“I became useful leverage. Vittorio threatened your mother, Liam, and you. The FBI placed me in protection after staging my disappearance.”
“You abandoned us for a case?”
“I left because Vittorio sent a photograph of you sleeping in your bedroom.”
My grip on the pistol tightened.
“You could have taken us with you.”
“Your mother refused.”
I stared at him.
“She knew?”
“She knew enough.”
“She told us you ran away.”
“That was the story we agreed would keep you from searching.”
My entire childhood rearranged itself.
Every birthday I had pretended not to care.
Every Father’s Day card Liam tore apart.
Every time my mother said some men simply were not built to stay.
“You agreed to let your children hate you.”
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet.
“Why return now?”
“Because Liam’s conviction was retaliation.”
“For what?”
“My protection agreement was compromised. Someone discovered I had maintained copies of the original financial ledgers.”
“Vittorio?”
“Yes. Jake was instructed to find them. He dated you because he believed I had sent the evidence to my family.”
Nausea rose.
Jake’s kindness after Liam’s conviction.
The way he asked about childhood storage boxes.
The way he offered to clean my mother’s attic.
None of it had been love.
I had been another locked room he was trying to enter.
“Where are the ledgers?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I divided the evidence. One section went to the FBI. One to a journalist. One to your mother.”
“My mother has it?”
“She hid it somewhere even I could not find.”
A door creaked behind me.
I turned.
Dante entered.
The pistol in my hand shifted toward him.
My father pulled his own weapon.
“Moretti.”
Dante remained still.
“Foster.”
“You were told to remain outside,” I said.
“I was.”
“You never listen.”
“Someone cut the communication line.”
My father looked toward the windows.
“They found us.”
Red laser sights appeared across the pews.
Dante moved first.
He tackled me behind a stone pillar as bullets tore through the church.
My father fired toward the choir loft.
Glass exploded.
The altar cross split near the base.
Dante covered my body with his while Rosa and Luca returned fire from outside.
“Are you hit?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Stay down.”
“My father—”
Thomas crawled behind the opposite pew.
“I’m fine!”
A man rushed through the side entrance.
I saw the gun before Dante did.
I raised Rosa’s pistol.
My hand shook.
The man aimed at Dante.
I fired.
The recoil snapped through my wrist.
The attacker fell.
Everything went silent inside me.
Dante turned.
He saw the man.
Then he saw the weapon in my hands.
“Emma.”
“I shot him.”
“You stopped him from shooting me.”
“I shot someone.”
Dante took the pistol carefully.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t.
He placed both hands against my face.
Not controlling.
Anchoring.
“Look at me.”
I lifted my eyes.
“You are here,” he said. “You are breathing. I am breathing. Stay with that.”
Outside, engines roared.
The remaining attackers retreated.
My father reached us.
“We have to move. Vittorio will send more.”
Dante looked at him.
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn’t.”
For the first time, I heard something almost like respect in Dante’s silence.
We escaped through the church basement.
A tunnel led to an alley behind the rectory.
When we emerged, an unmarked SUV waited.
My father opened the passenger door.
“I have a safe location.”
Dante did not move.
“So do I.”
Thomas laughed without humor.
“No Moretti location is safe from Vittorio.”
“And no federal location protected your son.”
The men faced each other.
I stepped between them.
“I’m done with secret rooms and powerful men making decisions around me.”
Both looked at me.
“We’re going to the hospital,” I said. “My mother tells me everything. Then we find Liam.”
Dante glanced toward the street.
“We may not have time.”
“Why?”
Luca approached holding his phone.
He turned the screen toward us.
A breaking-news alert showed smoke rising from a state correctional facility.
PRISON RIOT ERUPTS AT GRAHAM CORRECTIONAL CENTER.
Liam’s prison.
Below the headline, another update appeared.
MULTIPLE INMATES MISSING AFTER EXPLOSION.
May you like
My father whispered one word.
“Vittorio.”
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