Chapter 8 - The Price of Truth
Julian lunged forward, grabbing the tail of my waitress apron and yanked hard.
I stumbled, crashing down onto the nursery floorboards, the stolen diary sliding out from under my clothes and skidding across the rug toward Matteo’s crib.
In the crib, Matteo woke up with a sharp, terrified cry.
Julian stumbled into the room, blood streaming down his face, his revolver drawn and aimed directly at my chest. "I’ll kill you and take the kid myself!" he snarled.
BANG!
A shot echoed—but it didn't come from Julian's gun.
Julian’s chest jerked forward. A red stain bloomed across his immaculate white shirt. He looked down in shock, dropping his revolver, before collapsing heavily onto the floor, his silver cane rolling uselessly into the corner.
Standing in the main doorway of the nursery was Lorenzo.
He held a smoking heavy-caliber pistol in his right hand. His face was a terrifying mask of rage, his storm-gray eyes burning with absolute vengeance. Behind him lay two of Julian’s rogue bodyguards, unconscious on the hallway floor.
"Lorenzo..." I gasped, pulling myself up off the floor and scrambling toward Matteo’s crib to shield the crying child with my body.
Lorenzo didn't look at Julian's body. He rushed across the room, dropping his gun onto the changing table, and dropped to his knees right beside me.
"Are you hurt?" Lorenzo demanded, his large hands immediately framing my face, checking my neck, my shoulders, his eyes wild with concern. "Did he touch you? Mara, answer me!"
"I’m... I’m okay," I sobbed, my adrenaline crashing, tears finally pouring down my cheeks. "He... he tried to kill Clara. He organized the bridge explosion!"
Lorenzo’s hands froze on my face. His breath hitched.
I reached out with a trembling hand, picked up the leather-bound diary from the floor, and pressed it into his broad chest.
"Read it," I whispered. "Clara left it for you. She loved you, Lorenzo. She never betrayed you. It was him all along."
Lorenzo slowly took the diary. His calloused fingers brushed over Clara's handwriting on the first page. As his eyes scanned the frantic entries written by his late wife, the iron sovereign of Boston’s underworld broke.
A single, silent tear spilled over Lorenzo's lashes, trailing down his scarred cheek.
He closed his eyes, pressing the diary against his forehead, letting out a low, gut-wrenching shudder of grief that tore through his entire frame.
"I thought she hated me," Lorenzo whispered, his voice cracking into raw pieces. "All this time... I thought she ran away from me."
"She was protecting your son," I said softly, reaching out and gently laying my hand over his dragon-inked knuckles. "Just like my mother protected me."
Lorenzo opened his eyes. He looked at my hand resting over his, then raised his gaze to mine. The cold, dark distance between us was gone, replaced by a fierce, undeniable bond forged in blood and truth.
Matteo let out a small whine from the crib.
May you like
Lorenzo reached into the crib, lifted his son into his arms, and then, without breaking eye contact with me, pulled me up into his side, wrapping his strong arm around my waist, keeping us both pressed against his beating heart.
"It’s over," Lorenzo promised, his voice low and fiercely protective. "No one will ever hunt you again, Mara. I swear it on my life."
