Chapter 6 - Echoes of the Past
The room remained utterly silent as Vincent’s confession hung between us like a cloud of smoke. I felt the foundations of my six years of pure, distilled hatred begin to fracture. For years, I had sustained myself on the narrative that he had discarded me for a younger, prettier woman—that I was merely an inconvenient piece of furniture in his grand empire.
Learning that my misery was the collateral damage of a mafia blood debt didn't heal the wound, but it shifted the nature of the pain. It transformed a betrayal of desire into a catastrophic betrayal of priority.
Leo slowly walked around my legs. He didn't run, and he didn't hide. He stepped until he was standing directly in front of the kneeling giant.
""Leo, wait—"" I started, but Leo held up a small hand, silencing me with an authority that was so absurdly Moretti it made my throat ache.
Leo looked down at Vincent's bowed head. ""You made my mommy cry.""
Vincent slowly lifted his face, his eyes red-rimmed, wet with tears, staring at the little boy as if beholding an angel. ""I know, little man. I did. It is the greatest regret of my entire life.""
""Mommy coughs when she gets stressed,"" Leo continued, his high voice steady and serious. ""Her lungs get weak in the winter. When she gets sick, I bring her warm honey water and I check her pulse on her wrist. Because nobody else was there to do it.""
Every word out of Leo’s mouth landed like a sledgehammer against Vincent’s soul. The feared crime boss covered his face with his trembling hands, letting out a ragged, muffled groan of absolute torment.
""I should have been there,"" Vincent wept into his palms. ""I should have been the one bringing her water. I should have protected both of you.""
Leo looked back at me, his dark eyes seeking guidance. ""Mommy, his pulse is very fast. His heart is beating hard. Is he sick too?""
I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, looking at the man who had once ruled my world with an iron fist, now kneeling broken on a cheap rug, weeping at the feet of the son he never knew existed.
""No, Leo,"" I murmured, my voice softening against my will. ""He isn't sick. He's just... waking up.""
Before Vincent could speak, the sharp, rapid chirp of an encrypted radio clipped to his shoulder harness broke the heavy silence. A tense voice crackled through the speaker:
""Boss! We have a problem. Black SUVs just breached the southern perimeter of the neighborhood. It's Dante Alvarez's crew. They tracked your convoy from the elementary school. They know she’s alive, Boss. They're coming to take the boy.""
Vincent’s weeping stopped instantly.
In a fraction of a second, the shattered, grieving husband vanished. In his place rose the apex predator of Chicago. Vincent shot to his feet, his posture transforming, his eyes turning to black ice.
""Lock down the street,"" Vincent commanded into the radio, his voice lethal and razor-sharp. ""Engage with extreme prejudice. Do not let a single vehicle cross the intersection.""
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He snapped the radio off and turned to me, his hands reaching out, not with hesitation this time, but with ironclad command.
""Pack is done,"" Vincent said grimly, grabbing the duffel bags from the table with one hand and scooping Leo up into his powerful arm with the other. ""Dante Alvarez spent six years looking for my weakness. Today, he found out I have a son. We are leaving right now.""
