Chapter 12 - the second wing
By dawn, the storm had passed, leaving the estate gardens drenched in crisp, golden morning light.
Downstairs, the mansion was undergoing a ruthless purge. Lorenzo’s secondary lieutenants were sweeping every computer terminal, reviewing six years of financial logs, and arresting anyone connected to Marco Bellini’s private payroll.
In the master suite, Leo had just finished another successful feeding. The boy’s skin was visibly improving, rosy and warm, free from the lethargy that had plagued him for weeks.
Amelia laid Leo gently in the crib and turned to face Lorenzo, who was standing by the window holding an espresso cup.
"Dr. Vance has been recovered," Lorenzo said quietly. "He was found tied up in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Helena Cole was apprehended trying to board a private flight to the Cayman Islands."
"And Marco?" Amelia asked.
"Marco has provided names," Lorenzo said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "He was working with an external syndicate in Chicago. But the direct orders to target Leo came from inside Massachusetts."
Lorenzo turned around, his piercing eyes settling on Amelia with intense gravity.
"Amelia," he said softly. "Last night, before Marco attacked you, he said something. He said Clara was 'your sister.'"
Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. The moment of truth had arrived. She could no longer hide behind the uniform of a humble maid.
She walked to the sofa, lifted the velvet cushion, and retrieved the small velvet pouch. She pulled out the silver angel wing and laid it flat on the mahogany table.
Then, she unclasped the identical wing from around Leo’s neck and placed it beside hers.
The two silver pieces clicked together with magnetic perfection, forming a single, radiant pair of angel wings.
Lorenzo stared at the joined pendants. His breath caught in his throat.
"Clara never took that off until the week before she died," Lorenzo whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. "She said it was the only piece of her real family she had left."
"We were separated when we were four years old," Amelia said, tears welling in her eyes. "Our mother couldn't afford to keep us both after our father died. Clara was adopted by a wealthy family in Marblehead. I was raised in foster homes in South Boston."
May you like
She looked straight into Lorenzo’s eyes, bare and vulnerable. "I didn't come here to steal your money, Lorenzo. When Clara died, I saw the obituary in the Boston Globe. I needed to see her son. I needed to know if any part of my sister had survived."
***
