Chapter 9 - GRACE
Elias died before we could get more answers.
Not by our hands.
His own people killed him.
The Crown collapsed overnight.
Banks froze.
Politicians disappeared.
Three judges resigned.
News stations reported a massive criminal conspiracy.
But none of it mattered.
Grace was missing again.
Hannah had been guarding her.
Two minutes.
That's all it took.
Two minutes.
The safe house was empty.
The window was open.
On the floor lay Grace's white sock.
I picked it up.
My hands shook.
“No.”
Julian stood behind me.
“This is my fault.”
I turned.
“Don't.”
“I should've stayed.”
“You stayed.”
“I should have known.”
“Julian.”
He looked at me.
“She keeps getting taken because of us.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“She keeps surviving because of us.”
We found the location through the tracker.
An old church.
Outside the city.
Inside, hundreds of candles burned.
At the altar stood a woman.
She held Grace.
I raised my gun.
“Put her down.”
The woman turned.
My mother.
Impossible.
Alive.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakably Evelyn Caruso.
Julian whispered:
“Mom.”
She looked at him.
“I am sorry.”
I stepped forward.
“You've been alive all these years.”
“Yes.”
“You let us believe you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You gave Julian away.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked down at Grace.
“Because I knew what she would become.”
I froze.
“What?”
My mother stepped closer.
“Grace is not valuable because she is an heir.”
She touched the baby's cheek.
“She is valuable because she is proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That the Caruso bloodline survived.”
I didn't understand.
Then she handed me an old photograph.
A woman stood in front of the Caruso estate.
She looked exactly like Grace.
Same gray eyes.
Same gold ring.
Same face.
The date was 1894.
My mother whispered:
“The first Caruso.”
I stared.
“That can't be possible.”
“It is.”
Julian stepped closer.
“What does Grace have to do with her?”
My mother looked at him.
“Everything.”
Then she lowered her voice.
“The Crown wasn't protecting the family.”
She looked toward the church doors.
“They were protecting a secret.”
The doors opened.
Dozens of armed men entered.
My mother smiled sadly.
“They found us.”
I raised my weapon.
Julian did the same.
Hannah pulled Grace closer.
My mother looked at me.
“Alexander, there's one thing you must understand.”
“What?”
“Your father didn't die.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He's been alive.”
“Where?”
She looked toward the men.
Then whispered:
“Behind you.”
I turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Older.
Gray hair.
A scar across his forehead.
My father.
May you like
He smiled.
“Hello, son.”
