Chapter 9 - THE STAND IN THE SUITE
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The soft chime of the private elevator echoed through the outer sitting room of the master suite.
My blood ran cold.
Dominic had told me that he would use the private radio to announce his arrival before opening the doors.
The radio on the bedside table remained dead silent.
I looked down at Noah, who was looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“Noah, crawl under the big cedar chest at the back of the closet,” I commanded in a fierce, urgent whisper.
“Do not make a sound, no matter what you hear.”
“Mommy, come with me,” the little boy whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“I am right here guarding the door, baby,” I said, kissing his forehead.
“Now go! Hide!”
Noah scrambled under the low cedar chest, curling into a tiny ball behind the winter blankets, clutching his wooden horse tightly.
I stood up, reached into the drawer of the nightstand, and pulled out the small pearl-handled revolver Dominic had given me five years ago.
I had kept it hidden in my luggage for five years, praying I would never have to touch it again.
I checked the cylinder; six hollow-point rounds gleamed in the dim closet light.
The heavy wooden door of the bedroom was kicked open with a splintering crash.
Slow, dragging footsteps entered the room, accompanied by the ragged, wheezing breath of a wounded animal.
“Claire!” Salvatore’s raspy voice echoed through the bedroom.
“Come out, little maid!”
“Bring the bastard out and I might let you bleed out in an ambulance!”
I stood behind the half-open steel door of the closet, raising the revolver with both hands, my breathing slow and deliberate.
Salvatore walked into the master bedroom, his submachine gun hanging loosely from his left hand, his right arm bleeding from a shrapnel wound.
He looked around the empty room, his eyes instantly locking onto the walk-in closet door.
A twisted, triumphant sneer spread across his weathered face.
“Found you,” he growled, raising his weapon as he stepped toward the closet.
I didn't wait for him to clear the threshold.
I stepped out from behind the steel frame, aimed dead center at his chest, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed room.
The bullet struck Salvatore squarely in the right shoulder, spinning him halfway around and knocking the submachine gun from his grip.
Salvatore roared in pain and fury, lunging forward with his heavy boot to kick the closet door into my face.
The steel door slammed against my forehead, sending me crashing backward onto the carpet.
The revolver skittered across the floor, sliding under the king-sized bed out of reach.
My vision blurred with stars and blinding pain as blood began to trickle into my left eye.
Salvatore stepped over me, his heavy combat boot pinning my chest to the floor with suffocating weight.
He pulled a heavy silver hunting knife from his tactical belt, looking down at me with pure, psychotic hatred.
“Your mother was a whore, and your son will die today,” Salvatore snarled, raising the blade above his head.
From beneath the cedar chest, a tiny, furious voice screamed:
“Leave my mommy alone!”
Noah bolted out from the blankets, running at the full-grown mob boss and swinging his little wooden horse like a hammer.
The hard pine horse struck Salvatore’s wounded knee with surprising force.
Salvatore cursed in shock, stumbling backward a single step, his foot releasing my chest.
That single second was all the universe needed.
The bedroom door exploded inward as Dominic Moretti hit the room like an artillery shell.
He crossed the twenty feet between the doorway and the closet in two blinding strides.
His large, tattooed hand grabbed Salvatore by the throat, lifting the two-hundred-pound man clean off the floor.
Dominic slammed Salvatore against the brick chimney with enough violence to crack the mortar.
The hunting knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Dominic’s face was a mask of pure, demonic rage that no longer looked human.
His fingers dug into Salvatore’s windpipe, crushing the cartilage with steady, unyielding power.
“You touched my wife,” Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating with the wrath of an entire empire.
“You threatened my son.”
“Dominic... please...” Salvatore choked, his face turning dark purple, his heels drumming frantically against the brick.
Dominic did not listen.
He did not hesitate.
He twisted his hips and threw Salvatore through the double French doors leading to the balcony.
The heavy glass shattered into a million sparkling shards as Salvatore crashed onto the stone terrace outside.
Dominic stepped through the broken frame, looking down at the broken, bleeding mobster groveling among the glass.
He raised his service weapon, pointing it directly between Salvatore Bellini’s eyes.
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“The Bellini family ends today,” Dominic said.
He pulled the trigger once.
