Chapter 10 - The Christmas Party That Became a FuneralBergman's department store glittered beneath its elaborate Christmas decorations.
But the festive music had been turned off, and the store had closed its doors to ordinary customers.
Isabella Moretti stood near the central Christmas tree, her hands bound behind her back.
Carlo stood beside her in an expensive gray suit, smiling as though he were hosting a private dinner.
Two dozen armed men guarded the entrances.
At eleven forty-five, Dominic arrived.
He was pale from blood loss, but he walked without assistance.
Michael followed him.
I came last, holding Rosie's hand.
Dominic had argued against bringing us.
I had refused to stay behind.
“You'll be safer in the townhouse,” he'd said.
“Your mother is my daughter's only hope of having a grandmother someday. I'm not leaving her.”
“And Rosie?”
I looked down at my little girl.
“I won't let anyone use my daughter as an excuse to hurt another person.”
Rosie squeezed my hand.
“I can be brave, Mommy.”
Dominic had said nothing after that.
Now, as we entered the store, Carlo's smile widened.
“Well, well. The missing accountant has returned.”
Michael's face tightened.
“Let my family leave.”
“Your family?”
Carlo chuckled.
“You disappeared for four years, Michael. Did you imagine your wife would wait forever?”
I felt Rosie press closer to me.
“Daddy?”
Michael turned.
The moment his eyes met hers, something inside him broke.
He knelt despite the pain.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Rosie stared at him.
She had dreamed about this moment hundreds of times.
In some dreams, he brought her a bicycle. In others, he carried her on his shoulders through the snow.
Sometimes she imagined he had become a superhero.
But now, standing beneath the Christmas lights, she seemed uncertain what to do.
“You're Daddy?”
Michael nodded, tears filling his eyes.
“Yes.”
Rosie studied his face.
Then she asked the question I knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Why didn't you come to my birthday?”
Michael closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“You missed four birthdays.”
“I know.”
“Mommy said you were working.”
“I was.”
“Then why didn't you call?”
Michael had no answer that a six-year-old should ever have to hear.
He could only hold her hand and whisper that he was sorry.
Carlo clapped slowly.
“Touching. Truly.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Let them go.”
“Where's the ledger?”
Dominic held up a black metal case.
“First, Isabella walks out of here.”
Carlo shook his head.
“No. The evidence first.”
“Then neither of us gets what we want.”
For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other.
They shared the same family name, the same dark eyes, and the same talent for making a room go silent.
But only one of them seemed to remember that families were supposed to protect their own.
Carlo finally gestured.
A guard released Isabella.
She stumbled forward, and Dominic immediately caught her.
“Mother.”
She pressed her hand against his cheek.
“You should have listened to me.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“I know.”
Then she noticed Rosie.
“Oh, my goodness.”
Rosie peeked from behind my coat.
Isabella knelt.
“Hello, sweetheart. I'm Isabella.”
Rosie looked at her carefully.
“Are you Mr. Dominic's mommy?”
“I am.”
“Then you're the grandma in all the photographs.”
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, darling.”
Rosie reached into her pocket and pulled out a small paper star.
“I made this for you.”
Isabella accepted it with trembling hands.
For one brief moment, the store felt almost peaceful.
Then Carlo pulled a gun.
He pointed it directly at Michael.
“Now, Dominic. The ledger.”
Dominic raised the case.
“You'll get it.”
“Put it on the floor.”
Dominic obeyed.
Carlo motioned to one of his men.
The man opened the case.
Inside were nothing but old newspapers.
Carlo's face twisted.
“You arrogant little—”
A deafening alarm suddenly erupted throughout the store.
The main doors slammed shut.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Carlo spun toward his guards.
“What the hell is happening?”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“You told me to bring the ledger.”
He glanced toward the ceiling.
“I brought witnesses instead.”
Every screen in the store flickered on.
And suddenly, Carlo Moretti's own recorded voice filled the building.
“Make certain the accountant never leaves Hawthorne alive. And if Dominic begins asking questions, take the girl first.”
I felt Rosie stiffen beside me.
Carlo's expression collapsed.
Because the voice on the screens wasn't an imitation.
May you like
It was his own.
And the recording had just begun.
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