Chapter 7 - THE GATHERING STORM
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Luca slammed the receiver down onto the desk with enough force to rattle the crystal glassware.
“Matteo,” Luca barked into his lapel radio.
“Deploy the tactical unit to the 18th Street bridge.”
“Cut off the river outlet before those barges can reach the lake.”
“Do not allow Salvatore Bellini to leave the harbor alive.”
He turned toward the gun cabinet concealed behind the oak paneling, punching a six-digit code into the biometric lock.
The panel slid back, revealing a row of tactical carbines and customized handguns.
My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him holster a heavy black pistol beneath his shoulder.
“Luca, please,” I said, standing up from the sofa.
“He murdered your father.”
“He’s desperate now.”
Luca stopped, turning back to look at me in the dim light of the study.
He walked over, stopping inches away, his gaze sweeping over my anxious face.
“Salvatore Bellini has been a cancer on this city for thirty years, Hannah,” Luca said softly.
“He believed he could take my family’s empire from the inside out.”
“He used my brother’s greed and Vanessa’s vanity to poison my home.”
He reached out, his hand gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone.
The warmth of his skin sent a delicious shiver down my spine despite the terror of the moment.
“I am going to finish what my father started four years ago,” he whispered.
“And when I return, this house will finally be safe for you and my mother.”
“Promise me you’ll come back,” I whispered, leaning into his touch before I could stop myself.
A dark, fierce promise flared in his eyes.
“I swear it on my father’s soul, Hannah.”
He pulled away, grabbed his black wool overcoat, and sprinted down the corridor toward the subterranean garage.
Within seconds, the deep, thunderous roar of three armored SUVs tore through the quiet night air.
I stood by the tall bay window of the library, watching the red taillights vanish down the winding driveway into the rain.
The house fell into an agonizing, breathless silence.
I walked back upstairs to Teresa’s bedroom, checking the deadbolts on the heavy double doors.
Teresa was still sleeping peacefully, her breathing deep and untroubled under the heavy duvet.
I pulled an armchair over to the side of her bed and sat down in the dark.
I picked up the silver rosary beads resting on Teresa’s nightstand, letting the cool glass slide through my fingers.
I had never prayed so hard in my entire life.
I didn't pray just for the safety of the wealthy mafia boss who paid my wages.
I prayed for the man who had knelt on the floor to wipe my tears, the man who had shown me more respect in one evening than anyone had in my entire life.
Two hours crawled by like agonizing centuries.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three in the morning.
Then four.
Rain lashed against the leaded glass windows in violent, erratic sheets.
At four-thirty, the sharp screech of tires echoed from the front courtyard below.
I leaped up from the armchair, running to the window that overlooked the circular drive.
Two black Escalades had pulled up to the front portico, steam rising from their overheated radiators.
Marco and three armed enforcers stepped out, their tactical gear soaked with rain and blackened with soot.
Then the passenger door of the lead vehicle opened.
Luca stepped out into the pouring rain.
His overcoat was missing, his white shirt was torn at the shoulder, and dark blood was smeared across his left knuckle.
He looked up toward the second-floor window, his eyes finding mine instantly through the glass.
He nodded once—a sharp, triumphant gesture that told me everything I needed to know.
May you like
The monster had been slain.
The city belonged to Luca Moretti.
