Chapter 9 - My Father Took My Mother—So I Went Back to Brazil to End ItI had spent years believing poverty was the worst thing that could happen to us.
I was wrong.
The worst thing was seeing my mother tied to a chair inside the apartment where she had raised me.
Antonio sent the video at 4:12 a.m.
He wanted everything.
The ledgers.
The trust.
My signature transferring control.
And Dominic.
“You’re not going,” I told Dominic.
He looked at me as if I had lost my mind.
“He specifically requested me.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m going.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Are you giving me orders now?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I learned from you.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I grabbed his shirt.
“If something happens to you because of my father—”
His hands covered mine.
“Something already happened to me because of your father.”
“What?”
“I married you.”
I stared.
“That was terrible.”
“I know.”
Then he kissed me.
We flew to Brazil that afternoon.
Returning to São Paulo felt like stepping into another lifetime.
The streets were the same.
I was not.
We found Antonio’s location through one of my old contacts.
A nightclub owner who owed me money from translation work.
Antonio had taken over an abandoned medical warehouse outside the city.
Dominic prepared an assault.
I prepared something else.
Evidence.
Brazilian federal police.
American federal agents.
Every document Isabella had collected.
Every recording.
Every testimony.
If Antonio died, he became another mafia legend.
If he lived, he became what he feared most.
Powerless.
We entered the warehouse at midnight.
Antonio waited.
My mother sat beside him.
A gun against her head.
“Deanna.”
“Let her go.”
“Sign.”
A document sat on the table.
I approached.
Dominic remained behind me.
Antonio smiled.
“You came after all.”
“For her.”
“Everything you’ve done has always been for her.”
“Yes.”
“That made you predictable.”
“No.”
I picked up the pen.
“It made me strong.”
I signed.
Antonio relaxed.
Then looked at the document.
His expression changed.
“What is this?”
“Portuguese.”
“I can see that.”
“You should have learned it before hiding money in Brazil.”
The document was not a transfer.
It was authorization allowing investigators access to every Pradati-controlled Brazilian account connected to my name.
Antonio’s face twisted.
“You stupid little—”
Police sirens erupted outside.
He fired.
Dominic pushed me down.
My mother screamed.
Gunfire exploded.
Antonio ran.
I crawled toward my mother.
Dominic chased him.
“Dominic!”
He disappeared through a side door.
I freed my mother.
Police stormed the building.
Then I followed.
Outside, rain had begun.
Heavy São Paulo rain.
I found Dominic and Antonio on the roof.
Antonio held a gun.
Dominic was bleeding from his side.
“Stop!”
Both men looked at me.
Antonio laughed.
“My two greatest disappointments.”
“You don’t get to call me that.”
“You were supposed to be grateful.”
“For what?”
“For bringing you into this world.”
I walked closer.
Dominic shook his head.
“Deanna, stay back.”
My father pointed the gun at him.
“You took both my daughters.”
“No,” I said. “You lost us.”
His eyes moved to me.
“Isabella betrayed me.”
“She chose herself.”
“So did your mother.”
“She survived you.”
“And now you.”
“Yes.”
His gun turned toward me.
Dominic moved.
I screamed.
A shot cracked.
Antonio staggered.
He looked down.
Blood spread across his chest.
Behind him stood Gabriel.
Gun raised.
Antonio fell.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Dominic collapsed.
I ran.
The bullet had entered his side.
“Stay with me.”
He smiled weakly.
“You’re very demanding.”
“Dominic.”
“I’m here.”
“You asked me to stay. Now you stay.”
His hand found mine.
“I love you.”
Everything stopped.
Of all possible moments, this impossible man chose a rooftop in the rain while bleeding.
“You idiot.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not allowed to tell me that and die.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I love you too.”
His eyes closed.
“Dominic!”
He survived.
Of course he did.
Apparently stubbornness was medically useful.
Antonio did too.
Gabriel’s bullet missed his heart.
That was intentional.
Antonio Pradati woke three days later handcuffed to a hospital bed.
Charges waited in two countries.
Murder.
Trafficking.
Money laundering.
Conspiracy.
Racketeering.
He would spend the rest of his life discovering how small a prison cell could feel.
I visited him once.
He looked older.
Smaller.
“You think you won?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To say goodbye.”
“I’m your father.”
“No.”
I thought of Isabella.
My mother.
Viviana.
Dominic.
Elena.
Gabriel.
The strange family built from survivors.
“You’re just the man who taught me exactly what I never want to become.”
May you like
Then I walked away.
I never saw him again.
Related Stories
