Chapter 11 - THE FURY OF THE DON
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The blast of Luca’s shotgun ripped through the narrow gallery, dropping the second mercenary before the man could even turn his weapon.
The smell of burning rubber, pulverized timber, and cordite filled the air, thick and suffocating.
Luca stood amidst the wreckage of the balcony, his suit jacket torn, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow where shattered glass had grazed his forehead.
He racked the shotgun slide with a crisp, brutal metallic sound, his wild, feral eyes sweeping the smoke until they locked onto me.
"Hannah!"
His voice was a desperate roar that cut through the ringing in my ears.
"I'm here! I'm here!" I choked out, stumbling from behind the splintered storage door.
He dropped the heavy weapon to the floor, crossed the shattered timber in two strides, and pulled me into his arms with a force that knocked the breath from my chest.
His hands gripped the back of my neck and waist, hauling me against him so tightly that I could feel the violent, frantic hammering of his heart against my ribs.
"You're alive," he breathed against my hair, his voice cracking with an emotion that shattered his cold mafia facade.
"Where is Mama?"
"I sent her down the dumbwaiter to the wine cellar!" I gasped, clutching his lapels.
"There's a hatch leading to the boat dock! She's down there alone!"
Luca pulled back, his jaw setting like concrete.
"Michael is pinned down near the boat house," he said, drawing a heavy semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster and racking the slide.
"Vanessa is on the dock."
My heart seized.
"Vanessa is here?"
"She came on a high-speed cigarette boat with three mercenaries," Luca said, his eyes burning with lethal intent.
"She wants to take Mama onto the lake to negotiate safe passage out of the country."
He grabbed my hand, his fingers lacing through mine with unyielding strength.
"Stay behind me."
We moved through the ruined lodge like shadows.
The lower level was littered with spent casings and broken furniture, but the mercenaries who had entered through the front door were already dead, neutralized by Michael’s ambush.
We kicked open the cellar door, descending the stone stairs into the cool, damp darkness beneath the house.
The metal door of the dumbwaiter stood wide open.
Teresa was gone.
A trail of scuffled dust led toward the heavy wooden door that opened directly onto the private boat slip beneath the dock.
Through the cracks in the wood, we heard Vanessa’s shrill, frantic voice over the lapping water.
"Tie her hands to the railing!" Vanessa screamed, her voice bordering on complete madness.
"If Moretti’s boats get within fifty yards, throw the old bitch into the propellers!"
Luca didn't kick the door open; he turned the iron ring slowly, easing the heavy wood back an inch.
Through the gap, the scene on the dock was illuminated by the flashing red-and-green navigation lights of a sleek, black offshore speedboat.
Teresa was kneeling on the wet cedar planks, her wrists bound with zip-ties, her nightgown soaked from the spray of the lake.
Standing over her was Vanessa Bellini.
Vanessa was wearing a black leather trench coat, her hair wild and drenched in rain, a silver revolver trembling in her manicured hand.
Two heavily armed mercenaries in diving suits were untying the boat’s mooring lines, while a third sat at the triple-engine throttle.
"Hurry up, you idiots!" Vanessa shrieked, checking her diamond wristwatch.
"The coast guard will pick up the radar signature in ten minutes!"
Teresa lifted her head slowly, looking up at the woman who had once smiled across her son’s dinner table.
"Vanessa, child," Teresa’s voice carried over the sound of the idling engines, surprisingly calm and steady.
"You are throwing away your life for pride."
"Shut up! Shut your mouth, you filthy old scrubwoman!" Vanessa screamed, raising her arm to strike Teresa with the heavy barrel of her gun.
She never got the chance.
Luca exploded through the cellar door like a demon unleashed from hell.
Two rapid, deafening shots cracked from Luca’s pistol.
The two mercenaries handling the mooring lines dropped instantly into the dark, churning water with heavy splashes.
The man at the boat throttle reached for an assault rifle, but a third shot from Luca caught him squarely in the chest, sending him collapsing backward over the dashboard.
Vanessa shrieked in absolute terror, spinning around with her revolver raised wildly.
"Stay back! Stay back or I'll blow her head off!" she wailed, pointing the barrel directly at Teresa’s temple.
Luca stopped five paces away on the wet dock, his gun raised, perfectly centered between Vanessa’s eyes.
His face was a mask of cold, unadulterated death.
"Lower the gun, Vanessa," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of all human emotion.
"You'll kill me anyway!" she sobbed, backing toward the edge of the dock, her heel catching on the wet timber.
"You ruined my family! You ruined my life! My father is in federal custody right now because of you!"
"Your father is in custody because he was a thief," Luca said smoothly, taking a slow, measured step forward.
"And you are on this dock because you thought my mother was weak."
"She is weak!" Vanessa spat, tears and rain mixing on her twisted face.
"She spent thirty years on her knees scrubbing floors for pocket change! She’s nothing!"
From behind Luca, I stepped out onto the dock, my eyes locking onto Vanessa with cold, furious clarity.
"She scrubbed floors so her sons could stand tall," I said, my voice cutting through the wind.
"You had everything handed to you on a silver platter, Vanessa, and you're still the smallest person in this room."
Vanessa’s eyes darted to me, burning with venomous hatred.
"You... you little maid..."
In that split second of distraction, Teresa moved.
With the surprising agility of a woman who had spent decades surviving on the harsh streets of Chicago, Teresa drove her elbow backward into Vanessa’s shin.
Vanessa cried out in pain, her footing slipping on the wet cedar planks.
Her revolver wavered.
Luca didn't hesitate.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his left hand clamping down on Vanessa’s wrist like an iron vise, twisting the gun out of her grip until her bones popped.
The revolver fell into the black water of Lake Geneva with a soft plink.
Luca shoved Vanessa backward.
She collapsed onto the wet wood, sobbing hysterically, clutching her bruised wrist against her chest.
Michael burst onto the dock from the tree line, his rifle smoking, flanked by four Moretti guards.
"Perimeter is wiped, Luca," Michael announced, breathing heavily.
"All six hostiles neutralized."
Luca didn't look at his brother.
He walked over to his mother, knelt down, and sliced the zip-ties from her wrists with a silver pocket knife.
"Mama," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart," Teresa murmured, cupping his bloody cheek with her free hand.
"I knew you were coming."
Luca stood up, turning his cold gaze back onto the pathetic woman shivering on the dock.
Vanessa looked up through wet strands of hair, her voice breaking into a desperate whimper.
"Luca... please. Don't kill me. We were going to be married... please..."
Luca stared down at her as if she were a piece of garbage washed up on the shoreline.
"I'm not going to kill you, Vanessa," Luca said, his voice flat and merciless.
Her eyes widened with a pathetic glimmer of hope.
"You're not?"
"No," Luca replied, gesturing to Marco and Michael.
"Death is too quick for what you did to this family."
"You are going to federal prison."
"The documents proving your personal role in the offshore smuggling network were delivered to the United States Attorney’s office thirty minutes ago."
"You will spend the next twenty-five years in a six-by-eight concrete cell, wearing an orange jumpsuit."
"And every Tuesday, you will be assigned to scrub the mess hall floors on your hands and knees."
"No! No, please! Not prison! Luca, kill me instead!" Vanessa shrieked, thrashing wildly as Michael and Marco dragged her across the dock toward the waiting security vans.
Her screams faded into the mist as they hauled her away into the night.
Silence fell over Lake Geneva once more, broken only by the gentle lapping of the dark water against the wooden pilings.
Luca turned to face me.
He was standing under the warm amber glow of the dock light, the blood and rain washing down his face, his dark eyes softer than I had ever seen them before.
He reached out his hand to me.
May you like
"Hannah."
I walked toward him, stepping over the wet timber, and placed my trembling hand into his.
