Chapter 4 - THE SISTER’S TREASONThe winter wind howling off the East River rattled the rusted fire escape outside Clara Bell’s third-floor apartment in Long Island City.
Inside, the lights were off, save for the pale blue glow of a laptop screen sitting on the kitchen island.
Clara stood by the window, nervously tapping a cigarette against her thumbnail, watching for headlights on the street below. Her phone buzzed on the counter—a encrypted text message from an unknown number: The doctor talked. Get to the docks. The boat leaves at midnight.
She turned around, grabbing her leather duffel bag from the floor, and rushed toward the front door.
She reached for the brass handle—and froze.
The heavy oak door didn't just open; it was driven inward with a deafening crash as the reinforced deadbolt sheared clean through the frame. Splinters rained down across the hardwood floor like shrapnel.
Clara stumbled backward, tripping over her own duffel bag and slamming hard onto the floor.
Gabriel Moretti stepped over the splintered threshold, his dark overcoat billowing behind him like the wings of a crow. Behind him came Vince and three armed operatives, sweeping the rooms with tactical precision.
And right behind Gabriel walked Emma.
Emma’s face was pale, her eyes burning with a terrifying, cold fury that eclipsed even Gabriel’s presence. She looked down at her older sister—the woman she had trusted with her entire life, the only family she had left in the world.
“Clara,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking with a devastation too deep for tears. “You held me while I cried. You sat by my bed at the cemetery.”
Clara scrambled backward on her elbows until her spine hit the kitchen cabinets. Her face twisted into a mask of desperate, frantic malice.
“What was I supposed to do, Emma?!” Clara shrieked, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. “You think living in a drafty apartment making wooden trinkets was a life? Marcone offered us a quarter of a million dollars! He said the baby would be raised safely in a wealthy family upstate, and we’d never have to worry about rent or grocery bills again!”
“You sold my child,” Emma said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. She took a step forward. “You sold my flesh and blood to the man who tried to destroy us.”
“She’s not your child anymore!” Clara screamed, losing her mind. “She’s in upstate New York right now, registered under a new name with Marcone’s cousin! You’ll never find her!”
Before Clara could finish the sentence, Gabriel moved.
He didn't hit her. He didn't need to. He simply leaned down, grabbed Clara by the collar of her sweater, and hoisted her up until her toes barely touched the floor.
“Where in upstate?” Gabriel demanded, his dark eyes boring into her soul.
“I—I don't know the exact address!” Clara sobbed, gasping for air. “It’s a safehouse near Lake George! Marcone’s accountant keeps the deeds in a storage locker in Hoboken!”
Gabriel dropped her back onto the floor like a sack of garbage. He turned to Vince. “Secure her in the basement holding cells at Moretti House. Let her reflect on the price of family loyalty.”
As Vince hauled the screaming, kicking woman out the door, Gabriel turned back to Emma. She was standing frozen by the kitchen counter, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as the reality of what she had lost—and what she might still reclaim—finally crashed over her.
May you like
Gabriel walked over. Without a word, he placed his large, heavy hand on the back of her neck, pulling her gently against his chest.
“We are going to Lake George,” Gabriel said, his voice hard as iron. “And we are going to bring our daughter home.”
