Chapter 9 - THE BELLINI AMBUSH
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The peace of the autumn afternoon shattered into a nightmare of screeching tires and roaring engines.
A second burst of gunfire ripped through the trees near the front driveway, followed by the blare of the estate’s tactical alarm.
“Lily!” Caroline screamed, springing to her feet in blind panic.
“Stay down, Caroline!” I yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the stone archway of the patio.
Through the garden hedges, I saw two black armored trucks smash through the heavy wrought-iron security gates.
A dozen masked men dressed in tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, carrying automatic assault rifles.
They were firing indiscriminately into the ground-floor windows of the mansion, glass showering the gravel paths like hail.
“Alberto Bellini,” Caroline choked out, her face pale as a ghost.
“He’s come to slaughter everyone.”
Suddenly, I remembered where Lily was.
The greenhouse.
The glass greenhouse stood fifty yards to our left, entirely exposed to the driveway.
Through the transparent glass panels, I could see Lily huddled beneath a wooden potting bench, covering her ears and sobbing in terror.
Two masked shooters were already running across the lawn toward the greenhouse, their weapons raised.
“Caroline, crawl into the wine cellar behind the kitchen pantry and lock the hatch!” I commanded fiercely.
“What about you?” she cried, clutching my sleeve.
“I am getting Lily!”
I didn't wait for her response.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, drowning out every instinct of self-preservation.
I kicked off my flat shoes, sprinting barefoot across the damp grass toward the greenhouse.
Bullets chipped the stone statues along the path, spraying chips of marble into my hair.
I reached the glass doors of the greenhouse just as the first masked gunman leveled his rifle at the glass.
I grabbed a heavy ceramic planter filled with wet soil and hurled it with all my might through the open window.
The heavy clay pot struck the gunman square in the faceplate, sending him crashing backward onto the gravel.
I dove through the shattered doorframe, glass biting into my palms and knees.
“Lily! Under the table, now!” I shouted.
Lily looked up, her face streaked with tears and dirt.
“Miss Emma!” she wailed, scrambling toward me.
I grabbed her small frame, pulling her beneath the heavy oak potting bench and shielding her body entirely with mine.
The second gunman stepped into the greenhouse, racking the bolt of his submachine gun with a sickening metallic click.
“Found the boss’s brat,” the man sneered through his tactical mask.
He raised the barrel directly at my forehead.
I tightened my grip around Lily, closing my eyes and whispering a desperate prayer for her safety.
Before the trigger could be pulled, the glass roof of the greenhouse exploded in a shower of glittering shards.
A heavy black combat boot crashed down onto the gunman’s shoulder from the iron support beams above.
Luca Moretti dropped into the greenhouse like an avenging angel of death.
With terrifying, fluid precision, Luca grabbed the gunman’s rifle, twisted the weapon out of his hands, and drove an elbow into his throat.
The sickening sound of breaking cartilage echoed through the greenhouse.
The attacker collapsed instantly, unmoving on the flagstone floor.
Luca stood above us, his dark suit torn, his knuckles bloody, holding a tactical shotgun in his left hand.
His chest heaved with ferocious rage, but the moment his eyes landed on Lily and me, his breathing stabilized.
“Are you hit?” Luca demanded, dropping to his knees and pulling both of us out from beneath the bench.
“We’re okay, Daddy! Miss Emma shielded me!” Lily cried, throwing her arms around his neck.
Luca pulled Lily against his chest, but his dark, burning gaze locked onto my bleeding hands.
His jaw tightened with a fury so profound it seemed to vibrate the very ground beneath us.
“Marco!” Luca roared into his tactical radio.
“The perimeter is secured, Boss!” Marco’s voice responded over the static.
“Six Bellini shooters neutralized, four captured alive.”
Luca picked Lily up in one arm and reached down with his free hand, hauling me effortlessly to my feet.
He pulled me against his side, his arm wrapping around my waist with an iron grip that told me he would never let go.
“Marco,” Luca commanded, his voice cold, steady, and carrying the sentence of doom.
May you like
“Tell the armory to open the heavy vaults.”
“Tonight, the Bellini family ceases to exist in the city of Chicago.”
