Chapter 4A Record of Papa’s Death

On the afternoon of our departure, I took Tessy to an Italian bistro downtown for one last bowl of her favorite pasta.

The neighborhood was bustling with noise.

Holding my hand, Tessy suddenly stopped as we walked past the floor-to-ceiling windows of a high-end restaurant.

I followed her gaze.

Through the glass, I saw Rocco clearly.

With one hand steadying the plate, he used a silver knife to meticulously cut a small piece of filet mignon, dip it in sauce, blow on it, and feed it to Elio.

Carmela sat beside him, smiling. She casually pulled out a napkin and gently wiped a smudge of red wine from Rocco's lips.

Her fingertips lingered on his lips for a moment too long, a deliberately possessive touch.

What a joyous, deeply affectionate picture of a family of three.

Looking at this scene, I almost burst out laughing.

So this was the urgent "turf conflict" he couldn't get away from.

His lie, exposed in broad daylight, was both ridiculous and cheap.

Tessy's little hand gripped the hem of my trench coat tightly as she asked in a low voice:

"Mama, isn't Papa supposed to be in a turf war?"

I let out a cold laugh, taking her hand and turning to leave.

Suddenly, the piercing sound of screeching tires tore through the street.

It was followed by a series of muffled pops, like distant fireworks.

But it wasn't the sound of fireworks; it was automatic rifles.

A black SUV roared past from across the street. The windows rolled down, orange flames spat from the muzzles, and storefronts shattered.

It was a drive-by shooting from a rival gang.

The crowd erupted in screams, scattering in a panicked frenzy.

"Tessy!"

I screamed, my hand clamping down on my daughter's wrist.

But the panicked crowd was a stampede. You didn't choose your direction; you were swept along by it.

A panicked man slammed into my side, sending me sprawling onto the glass-strewn asphalt.

My hand was empty.

"Mama!"

By the time I scrambled up, my head bleeding, the street was thick with the harsh smell of gunpowder and smoke.

I searched frantically through the crowd.

Through the swirling dust, I saw Tessy. She had fallen behind a wide pillar, trapped by chunks of shattered marble from the building's facade.

Right at that moment, a familiar figure charged out of the ruins of the restaurant.

It was Rocco.

His back to the pillar, he turned and returned fire toward the street.

He saw her. He had to have seen her. His own daughter, trapped less than ten yards away.

But from the other side came Carmela's shrill screams.

"Rocco!"

"Help!"

"Elio's arm was cut by the glass!"

Rocco's body stiffened.

He glanced back at his daughter curled up behind the pillar. I will never know what was in his eyes in that moment.

The struggle lasted less than two seconds.

He shouted to her over the chaos.

"Tessy, don't move! Hold on! Papa will get Elio in the car and come right back for you!"

The moment the words left his mouth, I watched helplessly as he turned around, using his own back to shield Carmela and her son from the guns across the street, escorting them all the way to the family's black armored SUV parked by the curb.

In that life-or-death moment, he chose to leave his own daughter behind.

I watched, transfixed, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.

With a careless "hold on," he left his daughter in the crosshairs.

The dust and smoke settled layer by layer.

Tessy watched the direction the armored car disappeared in, her small body motionless.

She stopped crying. She stopped yelling.

She just slowly lowered the hands covering her ears, letting the choking dust fill her nose and throat.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and her lips trembled slightly.

"Mama, Papa went to save someone else."

"Today, Tessy really doesn't have a Papa anymore."

Those words were a bullet, shattering the last of my sanity.

Roaring, I snatched a broken steel pipe from the ground and, like a madwoman, pried away the marble pinning my daughter.

"Tessy!"

"Mama is here!"

"Mama is here!"

I picked up my nearly unconscious daughter, wrapped her tightly in my trench coat, and sprinted toward the ambulance arriving with its sirens blaring.

The moment the ambulance doors slammed shut, the battlefield outside was cut off.

The red light above the emergency room turned on.

I collapsed onto a cold bench, drained of all strength.

I pulled out my phone and opened the chat with my private lawyer.

[File for divorce. Full custody. Unilateral. Draft the papers immediately.]

[Sever all financial ties. Erase him from our lives.]

After sending the message, I contacted the car service to the airport.

I wished I could leave this place right this very second.