Chapter 9 - Blood on the Water
The subterranean tunnel beneath the Moretti estate was damp, dark, and carved from century-old limestone.
Luca led the way, his flashlight cutting through the damp mist, his gun raised. I followed closely behind, carrying Mateo against my chest. The four-year-old was surprisingly silent, his little arms wrapped like a vice around my neck, burying his face in my hair.
Behind us, the distant thuds of explosions and gunfire began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic sloshing of water.
We reached the heavy steel blast door that led to the private boathouse on Lake Michigan.
Luca swiped his master keycard. The hydraulic lock hissed open, revealing a covered dock where a sleek, black twin-engine boat floated in the dark water.
“Get in,” Luca ordered, helping me down into the passenger seat and buckling Mateo into a child’s life vest. “Marco and the rest of the team will meet us at the secondary safehouse in Milwaukee.”
Suddenly, the wooden doors of the boathouse splintered inward.
Four men emerged from the shadows, armed with submachine guns.
And behind them walked Vincent Russo.
Russo was in his fifties, thick-set, with silver hair slicked back and a cruel, scarred sneer across his face. He held a customized gold-plated revolver casually in his right hand.
“Running away, Luca?” Russo mocked, his voice echoing over the lapping water. “That’s not like the great Moretti king. Running away with a nanny and a bastard brat.”
Luca stepped onto the dock, placing himself directly between Russo’s men and the boat.
“You should have stayed in the North Side, Vincent,” Luca said quietly.
“Why? To wait for you to execute me?” Russo laughed bitterly. “Isabella sang like a canary, didn't she? I knew she was weak. But it doesn't matter now. You don't have your army, Luca. You have three seconds to get on your knees, or I put a bullet through the girl’s skull first.”
Russo raised his gold revolver, aiming straight at me.
Mateo whimpered against my neck.
Luca didn't get on his knees.
Instead, he smiled.
It was the most terrifying smile I had ever seen on a human face. A smile of pure, unadulterated madness.
“Do you know what makes a king, Vincent?” Luca asked softly.
“What?” Russo spat, annoyed.
“A king knows when to sacrifice a castle to slaughter a pawn.”
Luca reached into his pocket and pressed a small, black button on a miniature detonator.
*CLICK.*
The support beams of the entire boathouse exploded in a shower of concrete, wood, and fire.
Luca hadn't just prepared an escape route—he had rigged the entire structure to collapse.
The deafening blast knocked the mercenaries off their feet. Enormous wooden beams rained down into the water, crushing two of the gunmen instantly.
Luca moved like lightning through the falling debris.
Before Russo could recover his balance, Luca closed the distance, grabbed Russo’s gun arm, and snapped the bone with an audible *CRACK*.
Russo screamed in agony.
Luca drove his combat knife up under Russo’s ribcage, twisting it once before ripping it free. Russo choked, his eyes wide with sudden, horrifying realization, before his limp body tumbled backward into the dark, freezing waters of Lake Michigan.
The remaining mercenary raised his weapon, but Luca didn't hesitate. He picked up Russo’s dropped gold revolver and fired a single round through the man’s forehead.
Silence returned.
The boathouse was crumbling around us, flames licking at the remaining timber.
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Luca sprinted onto the boat, jumped behind the helm, and slammed the throttle forward. The twin engines roared to life, and the boat shot out into the open, black waters of the lake just as the entire boathouse collapsed into a blazing inferno behind us.
***
