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I glance at her and she’s panting, rabid, her face a mask of hatred. Gone is the sweet, trusting best friend I grew up with, the girl who referred to me as ‘Dear Raphy’. My abhorrent actions have transformed her into another character completely.
“How could you!” she cries. “How could you do this to Micah? He’s just a little boy!” She presses her palm against her heaving chest. “How could you do this to me? You were supposed to be my friend!”
Witnessing her anguish loosens my tongue. “I’m sorry, Cece,” I say. “I thought…I wanted….” But it’s impossible to articulate. How do I explain how utterly desperate I was—or her love, for money—and adequately describe how insanely jealous I have been of Michael Luciano, even before I knew he was Micah’s father? I try anyway, my pitiful tears running into the scratches on my face, making them sting. “I wanted you so badly…I wanted to give you the life you deserve. I’m so sorry for it all.”
She scrunches up her nose and top lip, baring her teeth. “Well, now you’ll get the life you deserve—locked behind bars for life. Not only will you be charged for Micah’s kidnapping, but you’ll also be charged for drugging and attempting to rape me. I hate you and I hope you rot in jail!
“Cece…Dante…please!” I cry, tears and snot running into my open mouth. “I’ve messed up badly but I’m still Raphy. I’m so sorry!”
With one last withering look at me, Dante pulls Cece to him, putting an arm around her shoulders and they head back towards Micah in the ambulance. The officer springs back to life and guides me back inside the police car. He waves at one of the paramedics who signals she’ll be here in a minute.
As I wait, I see Sonny being wheeled out on a stretcher bed, a thick bandage around his head, a cushioned support around his knee and an oxygen mask on his face, but I don’t think I can bear the sight of Luciano being treated like the hero I was supposed to be.
Suddenly hit by a suffocating wave of sorrow, I lay my head back against the car seat, close my eyes and let more self-pitying tears flow.
Twenty-Three
CECELIA
“Well, now you’ll get the life you deserve—locked behind bars for life. Not only will you be charged for Micah’s kidnapping, but you’ll also be charged for drugging and attempting to rape me. I hate you and I hope you rot in jail! I snarl at Raphael as he stands sniveling against the police car. It’s easy to feel remorse after the fact rather than not commit morally corrupt criminal acts in the first place. I’m done with him, forever.
“Cece…Dante…please!” he cries. “I’ve messed up badly but I’m still Raphy. I’m so sorry!”
I look away, not prepared to waste one more second listening to the man I once knew. He’s wrong; the Raphy I knew, the Raphy I grew up with, the Raphy I kissed when I was thirteen years old and giggled with afterwards no longer exists. It’s time to let go of the past because all that matters now is the future.
Papa pulls me to him as we head back towards Micah in the ambulance, and I climb up the steps and take my little boy’s hand. His long eyelashes create shadows on his pale cheeks, his eyelids flickering softly. I hope he’s dreaming about all the toys and treats and cuddles he’s going to be overflowing with as soon as we get him home.
“Mommy’s here, baby,” I say, even though he’s fallen back to sleep. “And Papa will be here with us soon too. He saved you from the bad men. He’s our very own superhero.” I gently stroke his hair back from his sweet face, marveling at the strong little boy I’ve raised. The strong little boy who will now grow into a strong, respectful man because of his father’s actions and influence. The paramedic who checked him over confirmed he’s only been given a sleeping pill which will have worn off fully in a few hours, but she said he’ll need to stay in hospital overnight for observation. I wipe yet another tear from my face, praying that he won’t remember any of this, from being snatched by a stranger at the school gate to being transported to a huge warehouse under the cover of darkness and being used as a commodity.
I look out past the ambulance’s open back doors and see a blood-soaked, battered man being wheeled out on a stretcher bed, and shiver in revulsion. The man Michael fought, and thankfully defeated. My own kidnapper’s brother, sought out by my childhood friend and recruited to steal my son and extort millions from my father. It’s more like the plot of a fictitious novel than my real life!
The paramedics steer Ricci’s brother toward the other ambulance and as they leave my eyeline, another sight makes me gasp in shocked elation. Michael and Papa, walking out of the warehouse together, Papa’s hand protectively grasping Michael’s shoulder! I stare at them, shaking, so overwhelmed with love and pride and happiness. The two men I love most in the world finally united!
Michael looks over at me from underneath his lashes, smiling wryly. His right arm is supported in a temporary sling, his left arm is bandaged, and he looks beyond exhausted. But he’s alive and the worst day of my life has somehow ended up one of the best.
“Mommy will be right back,” I say to Micah, leaving him under the paramedic’s supervision as I run down the ambulance steps and catapult myself at Michael.
“Woah!” he says, laughing, gripping me tightly with his free arm. I pepper his face with kisses and press myself against him, looking over his shoulder at Papa who is smiling at me indulgently. What a rollercoaster of a day! I pull back and notice how red and swollen and bruised Michael’s neck is.
“What’s this?” I ask him, pulling his collar away gently.
“Ricci tried to strangle him,” says Papa.
“I’m fine, honestly,” insists Michael but I detect a rasp in his voice.
“How bad was it in there?” I look between Michael and my father.
“It could have been a lot worse,” says Papa. He places his hand on Michael’s shoulder again. “I don’t know how to thank you. Who knows what might have happened to Micah if…” His voice cracks and he looks down, unable to finish the sentence. I rub his arm in comfort as he takes a moment to compose himself. He tries again. “What I mean to say is thank you, Michael, for saving my grandson. And for saving my daughter in Naples. You’re a good man.”
“Oh, Papa!” I cry, my heart swelling, fat tears flowing down my face.
Michael shrugs and looks shyly over at Papa, ever the modest man. “Cece and Micah are my world, Mr. DeMarco. I’ll always protect them and keep them safe.”
“I know that now. And, please, call me Dante.”
An official looking man in a sharp suit approaches us, apologizing for the interruption.
“Mr. DeMarco, Mr. Luciano, I’m Detective Russo with the Arma di Carabinieri. May I speak with you both a moment?”
