Chapter 9 - Blood on the Snow
The reinforced tunnel beneath the wine cellar smelled of ancient limestone and cold earth.
I huddled in the corner of the heavy steel-reinforced vault, my back pressed against the cold stone, holding Leo so tight I could feel every beat of his tiny, frantic heart. The heavy steel door was locked from the inside, the electronic panel glowing a steady, impassive green.
Muffled thuds of gunfire and explosions echoed through the concrete ceiling above us.
Every shot felt like a hammer blow to my chest. Was it Luca? Was it Matteo? Were the men in the black coats advancing through the halls where I had once polished the floors?
Leo pressed his wet nose against my chin, licking away the salt of my tears.
“He’s going to be okay,” I whispered to the dog, my voice shaking so hard the words barely made sense. “He has to be okay. He survived everything else in this city. He has to survive tonight.”
An hour passed.
Then two.
The gunfire above slowly tapered off, replaced by the distant, rhythmic wail of approaching sirens—police, ambulances, fire trucks. But in Luca Moretti’s world, sirens meant the battle was already over, and the cleanup had begun.
Suddenly, the keypad outside the heavy vault door beeped.
*Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.*
The heavy hydraulic locks groaned. The steel door slowly swung open, revealing the dim light of the wine cellar.
I shrank back into the shadows, pulling Leo tight, ready to scream.
A tall figure stepped through the threshold.
It was Luca.
His black shirt was torn at the right shoulder, stained dark with blood. His hands were scraped and bruised, his face smudged with soot and gunpowder. But he was walking upright, his jaw set in that familiar, unyielding line of absolute authority.
Behind him, Matteo stood guard, holding a rifle, a bloodied bandage wrapped around his forearm.
“Clear,” Matteo said quietly, stepping back into the cellar to give them privacy.
Luca stopped just inside the vault. He looked down at me, huddled on the stone floor, clutching the golden puppy.
The weapon in his hand was holstered. Slowly, the terrifying hardness that had cloaked him during the battle melted away, leaving only pure, profound relief in his dark eyes.
He dropped to his knees once more, the cold limestone biting into his slacks.
“Emma,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and raw.
I couldn't help myself. I let go of my grip on the floor, threw my arms around his neck, and buried my face against his uninjured shoulder, sobbing openly.
Luca froze for half a second—as if he were completely unaccustomed to someone reaching for him out of care rather than fear—before his arms wrapped tightly around my back, pulling me against his chest with desperate, overwhelming strength.
He didn't care about the blood on his shirt. He didn't care about the dirt on my clothes. He held me as if I were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
Leo scrambled over my lap, whining softly, and pushed his wet nose against Luca’s bloodied neck, his tail wagging with frantic, joyous energy.
Luca let out a shaky breath, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “It’s over,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly against my skin. “The Petrovs are finished. The Senator was arrested at O’Hare trying to board a private jet to Zurich. It’s done.”
I pulled back slightly, my hands trembling as I touched his cheek, feeling the rough stubble and the cold sweat on his brow. “You’re hurt.”
“A scratch,” he said, looking at me with an intensity that made the air vanish from my lungs. “I’ve survived worse. But if anything had happened to you...”
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
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The unspoken truth hung between us, heavier and more powerful than any empire he ruled.
***
