Chapter 7 - THE TERRACE AMBUSH
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The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed off the marble walls like a whip snapping in an empty room.
Before I could even scream, the alarm system wailed to life, a high-pitched siren pulsating through every speaker in the mansion.
"Code Black! South perimeter breached!" a voice roared over the internal comms.
I didn't think about my father, my new salary, or my own safety.
My mind screamed only one name: Teresa.
I spun around, sprinting up the grand staircase two steps at a time, my sensible shoes gripping the carpet as panic clawed at my throat.
"Teresa!" I cried out as I reached the second-floor landing.
Below me, heavy boots pounded against the marble foyer as Luca and Michael moved with military precision.
"Seal the main gates!" Luca’s voice cut through the blaring sirens like thunder.
"Marco, take the heavy rifles to the terrace! Michael, flank the courtyard!"
I reached the third-floor corridor and slammed through the double doors leading out toward the enclosed glass sunroom overlooking the garden.
Through the panoramic glass windows, I saw Teresa.
She was sitting at a small wrought-iron table with her porcelain teacup frozen halfway to her lips.
Beyond the glass, in the sprawling rose garden below, black smoke was billowing from a luxury SUV that had smashed clean through the wrought-iron decorative gate.
Two masked men in tactical gear were scrambling out of the wreckage, assault rifles slung across their chests.
"Mrs. Moretti! Get down!" I screamed, lunging across the sunroom floor.
The glass wall shattered into a million glittering shards as a spray of automatic gunfire tore through the elegant room.
The bullets chewed through the plaster walls, obliterating potted ferns and sending shredded white curtains flying like dead birds.
I threw my entire body over Teresa, slamming her small frame down behind the heavy marble balustrade just as a second burst of fire ripped through the air above us.
Glass showered down over our backs, stinging my neck and cutting through the fabric of my uniform.
"Hannah! Oh, sweet Mary, Hannah!" Teresa gasped, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist as plaster dust filled our lungs.
"Stay down, Mrs. Moretti! Don't move!" I shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire.
My hand found the small black emergency transponder in my pocket, and I slammed my thumb against the button twice.
Outside on the terrace, heavy, deliberate footsteps crushed the broken glass.
One of the shooters was climbing the exterior stone staircase leading directly into the sunroom.
I looked around frantically for a weapon.
The silver serving tray was gone, but the heavy wrought-iron teapot lay on its side three feet away, steam hissing into the cold morning air.
I crawled forward, ignoring the shards of glass slicing into my knees, and gripped the scalding iron handle with both hands.
The silhouette of a man in black body armor appeared in the shattered frame of the doorway, raising a rifle to sweep the room.
"Check the corners!" the man barked into his shoulder radio.
"Grab the old woman and put two in the maid’s head!"
Rage, hot and blinding, obliterated every shred of fear in my body.
As the barrel of his rifle swung toward Teresa’s hiding spot, I scrambled to my feet and hurled the pot of boiling tea directly into his masked face.
The boiling liquid splashed under his goggles and seeped into the fabric of his balaclava.
The gunman let out an agonized, inhuman howl, dropping his weapon and clawing desperately at his blistered eyes.
Before he could recover, I grabbed an ornate brass candelabra from the floor and swung it with all the strength in my body, striking him across the side of the helmet.
He stumbled backward through the shattered terrace door, tumbling down the flight of stone stairs into the courtyard below.
A second shooter rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, aiming his weapon directly up at me.
"Hannah, down!" a voice roared from behind me.
Luca burst into the sunroom like a vengeful god, a sleek assault rifle pressed against his broad shoulder.
Three deafening, rhythmic shots rang out from Luca’s weapon.
The second shooter collapsed onto the gravel path below, motionless.
The entire courtyard fell into an abrupt, terrifying silence, broken only by the wailing estate sirens and the hissing steam of the wrecked SUV.
Luca lowered his weapon, his chest heaving, his dark eyes scanning the shattered room until they locked onto me.
I was standing among the sea of broken glass, my apron shredded, blood dripping from minor cuts on my arms, still clutching the heavy brass candelabra like a club.
Behind me, Teresa was weeping quietly, unharmed, sheltered safely behind the solid marble balustrade.
Luca dropped his rifle to his side and crossed the room in three massive strides.
He didn't check the perimeter.
He didn't check the dead men in the garden.
He grabbed me by both shoulders, his hands trembling with an intensity I had never seen in him before.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice ragged and breathless.
"Hannah, look at me! Did they shoot you?"
"No... no, I'm not shot," I stammered, my knees suddenly giving way as the adrenaline crashed out of my bloodstream.
Luca caught me before I hit the floor, lifting me effortlessly into his arms and pulling me against his broad, muscular chest.
"You're bleeding," he muttered, his jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood out in his neck.
"It's just glass, sir... it's just broken glass," I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the clean scent of cedar and gunpowder.
"Mama!" Michael’s voice cried out as he rushed through the ruined doorway, followed by five tactical guards.
Luca set me gently on my feet, keeping one supportive arm firmly around my waist as Michael knelt and wrapped Teresa in his arms.
"She's untouched, Michael," Luca said, his voice dropping into that chilling, lethal hush.
"Hannah threw boiling water into the lead shooter’s face and shielded Mama with her own body."
Michael looked up from his mother, his stormy eyes widening as he stared at me.
"You took down a Bellini hitman with a teapot?" Michael asked in utter disbelief.
"She saved my life, Michael," Teresa sobbed, reaching out and pulling my skirt toward her.
"This girl took the glass for me. She didn't run."
Marco stepped onto the terrace from the garden below, wiping black grease from his tactical gloves.
"Boss," Marco called out, his face grim.
"Both shooters are dead. But we found something in the SUV."
Luca stepped over the broken glass and walked to the edge of the terrace, looking down into the courtyard.
"What is it, Marco?"
Marco held up a clear evidence bag containing a heavy brass keycard and an encrypted radio.
"The keycard belongs to Salvatore Bellini’s personal security chief," Marco reported.
"And the radio had a live frequency tracing directly back to a penthouse downtown."
"Whose penthouse?" Luca asked, his voice deadlier than the grave.
May you like
Marco looked up, meeting his boss’s eyes.
"Vanessa Bellini’s private residence on Lake Shore Drive."
