Chapter 12 - THE HOUSE WHERE MY MARRIAGE ENDED

Z

I had not returned to the Moretti mansion since leaving with two suitcases.

Now Angelo stood inside it.

With Vincent’s mother.

Rebecca wanted Isabella treated as a hostage.

Vincent wasn’t convinced.

“My mother would rather swallow glass than willingly sit in a room with Angelo.”

“That sounds reassuring,” Rebecca said.

“It isn’t.”

We watched live security footage from an FBI command vehicle.

Angelo stood in the great room.

He looked almost exactly as I remembered him.

Silver hair.

Expensive suit.

Warm smile.

A grandfather at a country club.

Except his right hand held a pistol.

Isabella sat across from him.

Her wrists weren’t tied.

But a man stood behind her.

Rafe.

My anger sharpened.

Vincent watched silently.

“What does he want?” I asked.

Rebecca handed him a phone.

Angelo called seconds later.

“Vincent.”

“Uncle.”

“You’ve made a mess.”

“You murdered Nonna.”

Angelo sighed.

“She was dying.”

“You poisoned her.”

“I accelerated the inevitable.”

Vincent’s face emptied of emotion.

That was the most dangerous version of him.

Angelo continued.

“She had become sentimental. Sentiment makes people foolish.”

“You killed Anna too.”

“The nurse was ambitious.”

“And Thomas Bennett?”

I stopped breathing.

A pause.

Then Angelo laughed softly.

“Ah. Claire wants closure.”

I leaned closer to the phone.

“Yes.”

“Your father was fortunate. I never touched him.”

I didn’t believe him.

Angelo continued.

“Cancer did what I couldn’t.”

My knees almost weakened with relief.

My father had died because life was cruel.

Not because Angelo poisoned him.

It was a terrible comfort.

“What do you want?” Vincent asked.

“The original notebook.”

“You know the government has copies.”

“I don’t care about the notebook.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed.

“Then why are we talking?”

Angelo laughed.

“Because family should say goodbye.”

Gunfire suddenly erupted through the live feed.

Isabella screamed.

The camera went black.

Vincent moved.

Rebecca caught his arm.

“Wait.”

“That’s my mother.”

“We have agents entering.”

“You’re too late.”

He pulled free.

I grabbed him.

“Vincent.”

He looked at me.

For a second, I saw the sixteen-year-old boy from the courthouse photograph.

The one who had already lost his father.

Now he might lose his mother.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“No.”

“Not inside.”

“No.”

“To the command perimeter.”

“Claire.”

“I’m not sitting five miles away waiting for strangers to tell me whether my family is alive.”

The word escaped before I could stop it.

Family.

Vincent heard it.

So did I.

His expression changed.

Then he nodded once.

We moved closer under federal escort.

Ten minutes later, agents entered the mansion.

No Angelo.

No Rafe.

No Isabella.

They found a hidden passage beneath the wine cellar.

Vincent knew about it.

He had used it as a child.

The tunnel led toward an old carriage house beyond the east gardens.

By the time agents reached it, Angelo’s vehicle was gone.

But Isabella had escaped.

They found her walking barefoot along the access road with blood on her dress.

Vincent ran toward her.

I had never seen him run to anyone.

“Mom.”

She collapsed into his arms.

The blood wasn’t hers.

Rafe had shot one of Angelo’s own men during an argument.

Isabella had used the confusion to run.

“Rafe’s turning,” she whispered.

Vincent stared at her.

“What?”

“He’s afraid of his father.”

“Where are they going?”

Isabella looked at me.

“Union Station.”

My stomach tightened.

“Why?”

“Angelo said he was finished with Chicago.”

Vincent shook his head.

“He doesn’t use trains.”

“No.”

Isabella swallowed.

“But Claire does.”

Everyone looked at me.

My plane ticket.

The flight I never took.

My travel details.

Angelo knew I planned to leave.

But why Union Station?

Then Rebecca’s phone buzzed.

Her team had found a reservation made under an alias linked to Angelo.

Amtrak.

Chicago to New York.

Two private rooms.

Departure in thirty-eight minutes.

“He’s running,” Rebecca said.

Vincent didn’t believe it.

Neither did I.

Angelo had private jets.

Cars.

Contacts.

He wouldn’t choose a crowded station unless he wanted something.

Or someone.

Then Madison called.

“Claire?”

Her voice was strange.

“What?”

“I think someone’s inside the apartment.”

My blood froze.

“Where are you?”

“Bedroom.”

“Lock the door.”

“I did.”

A crash sounded.

Then the call ended.

I stared at Vincent.

Angelo wasn’t going to Union Station.

It was misdirection.

Again.

Rebecca began shouting orders.

Agents raced toward Madison’s apartment.

My phone rang.

Rafe.

I answered.

“Claire.”

His voice shook.

“If you want Madison alive, come to Union Station.”

Vincent grabbed the phone.

“I’ll come.”

“No.”

Rafe laughed nervously.

“My father doesn’t want you.”

A pause.

“He wants the mother of the heir.”

The line disconnected.

Vincent looked at me.

“No.”

I already knew what I had to do.

For months, men had been deciding what happened to me.

Vincent.

Angelo.

Rafe.

Even Emilia, with all her careful plans.

Enough.

I looked Vincent directly in the eye.

“I’m going.”

His face hardened.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m going with Rebecca, agents, body armor, and every precaution available.”

“No.”

“You do not own this decision.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“And I’m trying to keep Madison alive.”

He stepped closer.

“Claire, please.”

It was the first time he begged.

I touched his face.

“I know.”

Then I said the words I had been saving since the day our marriage ended.

“Vincent Moretti, I’m calling in my favor.”

He went completely still.

Everyone around us seemed to disappear.

“You said someday, when I asked, you owed me.”

His eyes darkened.

“What do you want?”

I took a breath.

“Trust me.”

He looked shattered.

“That’s the favor?”

“Yes.”

“Claire…”

“Trust me enough to let me make my own choice.”

For three years, Vincent had protected me by withholding truth.

Then he had destroyed us trying to protect me without trusting me.

Now he faced the hardest thing I could ask.

Not violence.

Not money.

Not sacrifice.

Trust.

His eyes closed.

When they opened, he nodded.

“One favor.”

“One favor.”

“I hate this favor.”

“I know.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.

Then whispered,

“Come back to me.”

May you like

“I brought Camille tonight because I thought you deserved to see what my...

ON MY BIRTHDAY, MY MAFIA BOSS HUSBAND GAVE ANOTHER WOMAN THE DIAMONDS I...

Her Husband Told Her Not to Make a Scene, but When She Slid Off Her Wedd...

I didn’t promise.

But for the first time, I wanted to.