My Birthday Invite Went to the Wrong Number—Then the Mafia Boss Walked In

Smoke changes a room faster than fear does.

Within seconds, the sacristy disappeared behind a gray wall.

Father Michael led us toward a side corridor, but flames had already climbed the wooden paneling. Marco kicked open a basement access door.

"Tunnels!"

We moved down the stairs.

Claire coughed behind me. Stefano stayed at my back, one hand on my shoulder, refusing to let the smoke separate us.

Halfway down, the lights failed.

We reached the underground corridor by phone flashlights.

Then came an explosion above us.

Dust rained from the brick ceiling.

"Move!" Marco shouted.

We ran past locker 314 and deeper into the old freight tunnels. Father Michael knew one exit beneath a shuttered bakery two blocks away.

When we climbed out, fire engines were already surrounding St. Bridget's.

Mrs. Delaney still had Paula's cassette inside her coat.

I had Teresa's unopened letter.

Stefano looked at the burning church and said one name.

"Salvatore."

An hour later, Marco located a vehicle used near the church. It belonged to a shell company tied to an empty warehouse in Cicero.

We went anyway.

This time, nobody argued about whether I should come.

The warehouse was clean. Too clean. No dust, no boxes, no abandoned equipment. Just a chair beneath a hanging bulb and an old television on a rolling cart.

The screen turned on by itself.

Salvatore Moretti appeared.

He was in his seventies, heavy-faced, white-haired, with Stefano's eyes and none of his restraint.

"Son," he said to the camera. "You always did choose difficult women."

Stefano did not react.

Salvatore smiled. "Nora Bennett. You look like Ruth when you're angry. She had the same mistake in her face. She thought morality was armor."

My hands curled into fists.

"This is recorded," Marco said.

"Obviously," Stefano replied.

The video continued.

"Vincent disappointed me. Teresa disappointed me. Paula broke my heart. But you, Stefano, were my greatest failure. I gave you an empire and you turned it into paperwork."

Stefano's voice was quiet. "Where are you?"

As if hearing him, the recording smiled.

"Come to the old Moretti house tomorrow at sunset. Bring the ledger, the tape, and Nora. If you do not, I will send what remains of Claire's debt file to every prosecutor and bank in the state. She will lose everything. Perhaps prison will improve her judgment."

Claire went white.

Then the screen flickered.

A second video began.

My mother appeared.

Alive. Younger. Terrified.

She was sitting in the same chair.

Someone off camera asked, "Where is the ledger, Ruth?"

My mother looked straight into the lens.

"Where Nora will find it when she's ready."

A man's hand struck her.

I lunged at the screen as if twenty years could be crossed in one step.

The video cut to black.