Chapter 13 - The Mother’s Cross
Luca tapped the incoming multimedia notification, revealing a high-resolution photograph taken less than an hour ago.
Luna gasped, horror freezing the blood in her veins as her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
The screen displayed a small, sunlit courtyard in a rural Mexican village surrounded by blooming bougainvillea.
Sitting in a wooden rocking chair was an elderly woman with silver hair, wrapped in a faded knitted shawl.
Standing directly behind the frail woman was a tall man in a leather jacket, resting a gloved hand casually on her shoulder.
Tucked into the man’s waistband was a silver automatic pistol with a custom ivory grip.
“Mamá,” Luna whispered, hot tears instantly flooding her eyes as panic seized her throat.
“You recognized your mother’s village, didn't you, little housemaid?” Katarina’s mocking laugh crackled through the speaker.
“While you were playing gangster at the docks, my father’s cartel partners in Sinaloa paid a visit to your family home.”
“Your little brother is still at school, but my men are waiting outside his classroom gate.”
“You brought shame to my name, you took my fiancé, and you got my brother killed.”
“Now, you will pay the price in blood.”
Luna grabbed the phone with trembling fingers, her voice breaking into a desperate plea.
“Please, Katarina, leave them alone!” Luna cried out. “They know nothing about this life!”
“They have never touched a single dollar of mafia money!”
“Take me instead!”
“Shut up, you filthy peasant,” Katarina snapped coldly.
“Luca, here are my terms.”
“You will bring that maid to the abandoned railyard in South Queens at eight o’clock tonight.”
“Unarmed. No guards. No snipers.”
“You will sign over all Moretti territorial rights to my father, and you will watch us hang your little bride from a freight car.”
“If I see a single Moretti soldier within five miles of the railyard, my men in Mexico will burn your mother’s house to ashes.”
The line went dead with a harsh, hollow tone.
Luna fell to her knees on the wet wooden planks of the pier, clutching her grandmother’s silver rosary against her chest.
“No, no, no,” she sobbed uncontrollably, her body racking with agonizing grief.
“This is all my fault.”
“I should have left the mansion three years ago.”
“I should have never let you look at me.”
Luca dropped to both knees before her, ignoring the burning pain in his wounded shoulder.
He seized her face between his strong hands, forcing her tearful brown eyes to meet his piercing green gaze.
“Look at me, Luna!” he ordered, his voice raw with fierce, unwavering intensity.
“Listen to every word I am saying to you.”
“Your mother is not going to die tonight.”
“Your brother will walk home from school unharmed.”
“How can you promise that?” Luna wept, clutching his wrists. “They are thousands of miles away in Mexico!”
“Because I never leave the back door unguarded, mi paloma,” Luca whispered, a dark, dangerous spark igniting in his eyes.
“When I placed that emerald ring on your finger last night, I knew what the Vulovs would attempt.”
“Three hours before midnight, while the ball was still happening, I wired one million dollars to Don Hector Beltrán in Guadalajara.”
“Don Hector was my father’s oldest blood brother from the old days.”
“Six of his best sicarios have been stationed around your mother’s village since dawn.”
Luca pulled a small burner phone from his pocket and dialed a single number.
A rough, Spanish-speaking voice answered on the second ring.
“Boss Moretti,” the man said in rapid Mexican Spanish.
“Commander Ortiz,” Luca responded in fluent Spanish. “Give Luna the phone.”
Luna pressed the phone against her ear with shaking hands.
“Mamá?” she choked out.
“Luna, mi niña?” her mother’s frail, sweet voice came through the line, completely calm and uninterrupted.
“A very polite gentleman named Mateo is sitting here with me, drinking cinnamon tea.”
“He said you arranged for private security to watch over the house because of some neighborhood disturbances.”
“Are you eating well, mija? You sound like you have been crying.”
Luna pressed her forehead against Luca’s collarbone, weeping with overwhelming relief as the crushing terror lifted from her soul.
“I am eating well, Mamá,” Luna whispered, wiping her tears. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my brave girl. Say hello to your boss for me.”
Luna handed the phone back to Luca, who spoke a final, cold directive into the receiver.
“Ortiz,” Luca commanded, his voice dropping into absolute lethal authority.
“The Russian operative standing behind the rocking chair.”
“Take him alive, cut off his fingers, and send a photograph to Katarina Vulov’s private phone.”
“Understood, Boss,” Ortiz replied before ending the call.
Luca stood up, pulling Luna gently to her feet.
The tears on her face dried rapidly in the cold wind, replaced by a dark, unbreakable resolve.
“They tried to murder my mother, Luca,” Luna said, her voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm.
“They tried to use my blood against you.”
“What do we do tonight at the railyard?”
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Luca smiled, a predator watching his partner step into her true power.
“Tonight, my queen,” Luca replied, racking the slide of his pistol, “we show the five families what happens when someone threatens our home.”
