Chapter 7 - The Hitman's Confession
The world tilted on its axis.
I stared at the rosary in my bloodstained hands. The boy I had raised, the boy who used to rescue stray dogs and cry over sad movies, was a contract killer for our worst enemies.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Jack, tell me he’s lying.”
Jack dropped the rifle. It clattered against the marble floor. He fell to his knees amid the shattered glass, his face buried in his hands. “They promised me they would keep Elena safe,” he sobbed. “When I found out she was with them, they told me I had to earn her keep. Every job I did, they sent me a photo of Leo to prove they were taking care of him.”
Dominic scoffed, a sound of pure disgust. “You sold out your own blood for a hostage video. You’re weak, Jack. Just like her.”
I snapped my head toward my husband. “Don't you dare speak to him like that. You created this! You traded his fiancé to a cartel!”
Sophia groaned beneath me, her breathing shallow. “Rose... the sirens.”
I listened. Faintly, in the distance, the wail of police sirens was growing louder. The neighbors had heard the gunfire.
“We have to go,” Jack said, scrambling to his feet. He looked at me, his eyes wild with panic. “Mom, get Leo. We have to leave right now.”
“You’re not taking my grandson anywhere,” Dominic snarled, raising his pistol at Jack’s chest. “You’re a traitor to this family. You stay here and take the fall for the Rossi raid.”
“Dominic, put the gun down!” I screamed, standing up and placing myself directly between my husband's weapon and my son.
“Move, Rose.” Dominic’s voice held no love. Thirty-one years of marriage had vanished into the barrel of that gun.
“Shoot me,” I challenged, staring directly into his dead eyes. “You’ve destroyed everything else in this house. Do it.”
Dominic’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Suddenly, the kitchen doors burst open.
Little Leo stood there. He wasn't crying. He was holding something in his small hands. A heavy, framed photograph.
“Daddy?” Leo said, his tiny voice echoing in the ruined room.
Jack choked on a sob. “Leo.”
Leo walked forward, ignoring the glass, ignoring the guns. He held the photograph up toward Dominic.
“The bad man in the kitchen told me to give you this,” Leo said innocently.
Dominic frowned, lowering his gun a fraction. “What bad man?”
I looked at the photograph. It was an old picture of Dominic and the Rossi boss, taken thirty years ago when they were partners, before the families split.
But it wasn't the picture that made my blood run cold. It was the heavy smear of fresh blood across the glass.
The reversal hit me. Jack hadn't come alone.
“Jack,” I whispered. “Who is in the kitchen?”
Jack looked confused. “Nobody. I came alone. I swear.”
A deep, chilling laugh echoed from the dark kitchen hallway. Footsteps slowly approached the swinging doors.
A man stepped into the light. He was holding a bloody combat knife. It was the Rossi boss.
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“Hello, Dominic,” the man smiled. “Did you really think I’d let your boy steal my ledger without following him home?”
He looked down at Leo. “Come here, little bird. It’s time to go.”
