Chapter 8 - THE GATHERING STORM
|
Dr. Vance worked in absolute silence as he cleaned and bandaged the shallow lacerations along my forearms and collarbone.
We were in the private medical wing on the mansion’s ground floor, the scent of antiseptic hanging thick in the air.
Teresa sat on a plush sofa across the room, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket, sipping a cup of chamomile tea that Michael had personally brewed for her.
"No deep tissue damage, young lady," Dr. Vance said, taping a clean white dressing over my left arm.
"You're very lucky. If that marble balustrade hadn't been reinforced with steel rebar, the high-caliber rounds would have cut right through."
"Thank you, Doctor," I murmured softly.
The door opened, and Luca stepped inside.
He had changed out of his dust-covered clothes into a tailored charcoal suit, his hair swept back, his dark eyes carrying a terrifying, focused calm.
Dr. Vance immediately packed his medical bag and stood up.
"Don Luca. Your mother is in shock, but physically unharmed. Miss Sullivan has some superficial cuts, but she will make a full recovery."
"Thank you, Vance. Wait in the conference room. I want you to accompany my mother to our Lake Geneva retreat."
Teresa immediately looked up, her tea cup rattling against its saucer.
"Lake Geneva? Luca, no. I am not running away from my own home."
Luca walked over to his mother, kneeling before her just as he had done the night before.
"It's not running away, Mama. It's clearing the battlefield."
"Vanessa and her family have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed."
"By nightfall, Chicago will be under lockdown."
"I cannot fight this war while worrying about an SUV breaching the gates every hour."
Teresa reached out, her trembling fingers caressing her son’s cheek.
"You look just like your father when he was preparing for a raid," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
"He had that same terrible, cold look in his eyes."
"My father died because he was too merciful, Mama," Luca said gently, kissing the palm of her hand.
"I will not make that mistake."
He stood up and looked across the room at me.
"Hannah will go with you to Lake Geneva."
"Michael and twenty of our best men will secure the perimeter of the lake house."
I stood up from the examination table, testing my legs.
They felt steady.
"Mr. Moretti, if there's going to be fighting here, shouldn't Michael stay beside you?" I asked cautiously.
Luca studied me, a flicker of appreciation passing over his features.
"Michael’s job is to protect what matters most to me."
"And right now, that is in Lake Geneva."
"What about my father?" I blurted out, fear suddenly gripping my chest.
"If the Bellinis know who I am, will they target Mercy General?"
Luca’s expression turned grim.
"Mercy General’s fourth floor is currently guarded by four armed men posing as hospital security."
"Your father is safer there than the Governor of Illinois."
"No one touches Thomas Sullivan, Hannah. You have my word on that."
The relief was so profound it made my shoulders slump.
"Thank you, sir."
Before Luca could reply, Marco stepped through the doorway, holding a satellite phone in his hand.
"Boss. The Five Families commission just called an emergency session."
"Don Carmine wants you on a secure video link in ten minutes."
Luca’s eyes hardened into flint.
"Carmine thinks he can mediate this?"
"He says Salvatore Bellini is claiming you broke the engagement without cause and attempted to assassinate Lorenzo in your dining room," Marco explained.
Michael scoffed loudly from the corner, spitting a curse in Italian.
"That lying dog! Lorenzo walked in here threatening Mama!"
"It doesn't matter what Salvatore claims," Luca said smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket.
"What matters is what the commission is willing to risk."
He turned to his brother.
"Michael, get the armored suburban ready. Take Mama and Hannah out through the underground tunnel beneath the wine cellar."
"Do not use the main highway. Take the back roads through Kenosha."
"We'll be out of the county in thirty minutes," Michael confirmed, pulling a heavy tactical bag from behind the door.
Luca walked toward me, stopping just inches away.
He reached out, his warm, strong hand gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing against a small scratch near my cheekbone.
The intimacy of the gesture sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine, stealing the breath from my lungs.
"Take care of her, Hannah," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant.
"And take care of yourself."
"I will, Mr. Moretti," I whispered, unable to look away from his intense gaze.
"When this is over," Luca said, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second, "we have things to discuss."
Before I could ask what he meant, he dropped his hand, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room toward the secure briefing room.
Ten minutes later, Michael led Teresa and me down into the labyrinth of brick corridors beneath the mansion.
The wine cellar opened into a forgotten subterranean tunnel built during the Prohibition era, wide enough for a customized black SUV.
Teresa held my hand tightly as we climbed into the reinforced leather seats of the armored vehicle.
The heavy blast doors at the end of the tunnel ground open, revealing the damp, shadowed exit behind a false hillside two miles from the main estate.
As the SUV accelerated smoothly onto the rain-slicked country road, I looked back through the tinted ballistic glass.
May you like
In the distance, black storm clouds were gathering over the Chicago skyline, dark and ominous.
A war was descending upon the city, and the blood had only just begun to spill.
