All Chapters of Hunted Heart:The Mafia's Plaything.: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The wreckage was still smoking when Alex reached it.The fire crews had pulled back, the police had formed a perimeter, the paramedics were waiting with their stretchers and their bags of equipment that wouldn't be enough. The Captain's car was a blackened shell, the metal twisted, the windows gone, the tires melted into the concrete. But the Captain was alive. Alex could see him through the gap where the windshield used to be, his face bloody, his arm pinned under the dash, his eyes open and staring at the sky.Vincenzo was already there. He must have moved while Alex was talking to Cole, while the ambulances were pulling away, while the first light was breaking over the airfield. He was kneeling beside the wreckage, his hand on the Captain's shoulder, his face close to the Captain's ear. Alex couldn't hear what he was saying. He didn't need to.He moved faster, his feet heavy on the concrete, his breath coming hard. The paramedics were shouting something behind him, telling him to s

The estate looked different in the daylight.The last time Alex had seen it, the gates were twisted, the windows shattered, the walls scarred from the FBI raid. Now, three weeks later, the gates were gone, replaced by a temporary fence. The driveway was torn up, the gravel replaced with mud and tire tracks from the construction trucks. The house itself was a shell, the roof patched with tarps, the windows boarded, the front door hanging open on hinges that hadn't been replaced yet.Vincenzo stood beside him, his hands in his pockets, his face turned toward the building. He hadn't said anything since they pulled through the gate. Alex let him have the silence."It's worse than I remember," Vincenzo said finally. His voice was quiet, like he was talking to himself.Alex looked at the house. At the walls that had been standing for generations. At the windows where he'd watched the sun rise so many mornings. At the door where Vincenzo had kissed him for the first time."It's still standin

The grave was at the edge of the property, where the garden gave way to woods. Alex had walked past it a dozen times, never knowing what it was. Just a mound of earth, overgrown with weeds, marked by a stone that had no name. He'd thought it was an old well, or a cistern, or something left over from when the house was built.Now he stood beside it, Vincenzo beside him, a shovel in his hand."The letters," Vincenzo said. "The last one. My father said he buried something here. Something he wanted us to find. When we were ready."Alex looked at the mound. The earth was soft, the grass thin, the stone at the head worn smooth by years of rain and wind. "What is it?"Vincenzo shook his head. "He didn't say. He just said we'd know. When we found it."They started digging.---The box was small, metal, rusted. They found it two feet down, wedged between roots and stones, the lid sealed with wax that had cracked and crumbled years ago. Vincenzo lifted it out, brushed the dirt from the surface,

The estate was alive again.The walls that had been shattered were rebuilt, the windows that had been broken were replaced, the garden that had been trampled was blooming. Crews had worked through the night to get it ready, hanging lights in the trees, setting chairs on the lawn, draping flowers from the porch. The result was something Alex had never seen before. Something that looked like hope.He stood at the window of the study, the same study where he'd spent so many nights reading files, chasing ghosts, trying to find a truth that kept slipping through his fingers. Now it was empty, the walls freshly painted, the floors polished, the desk replaced with a table that held a vase of flowers. The room smelled of paint and roses and something else. Something that smelled like new beginnings.His mother was behind him, her hands on his shoulders, her reflection in the glass."You're nervous," she said.Alex looked at his hands. The ring was on his finger, the gold bright against his sk

The morning light was soft through the windows of the study, the same windows that had been shattered and replaced, the same walls that had been torn down and rebuilt. Alex stood by the desk, the same desk where he'd spent so many nights reading files, chasing ghosts, trying to find a truth that kept slipping through his fingers. But the files were gone now, the ghosts laid to rest, the truth finally at peace.Vincenzo was behind him, his arms around Alex's waist, his hands flat against Alex's stomach. The child was small still, barely showing, but Vincenzo held him like he was already here, already part of their world."You're thinking," Vincenzo said. His voice was soft, his lips against Alex's ear.Alex leaned back into him, felt the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his hands. "I'm always thinking.""About what?"Alex looked out the window. The garden was in bloom, the fountain running, the bench where his mother sat every morning waiting for the sun to rise. Beyond the gates,