Chapter 8 - The Calm Before the Fire
*BANG.*
The sound of high-caliber rifle fire shattered the quiet night, striking the armored passenger door of the Maybach like a sledgehammer.
Sofia woke instantly with a piercing scream.
“Down!” Luca roared, his hand instantly pushing my head and Sofia’s down onto the floorboards of the car. He threw his own massive body over us like a human shield.
Another round of heavy gunfire peppered the vehicle’s exterior. The bulletproof glass spiderwebbed into violent white fractures, but held.
Up front, the driver, a battle-hardened veteran named Marco, slammed his foot on the accelerator. “Ambush on the ridge! Two black Suburbans blocking the bridge ahead, Mr. Moretti! Lead vehicle is disabled!”
“Ram them!” Luca shouted, reaching beneath his seat and pulling out a matte-black automatic pistol. He racked the slide with a metallic snap that made my blood run cold. “Don't stop for anything!”
The Maybach surged forward with brutal torque.
I clutched Sofia tightly against my chest, covering her ears with my hands as she sobbed hysterically into my neck. “It’s okay, baby,” I whispered through chattering teeth, my heart in my throat. “You’re safe. Emma’s got you. Daddy’s got you.”
With a bone-jarring crash that sent shockwaves through my healing ribs, the heavy Maybach slammed into the side of the blocking SUV, shoving it across the wet asphalt. The sickening sound of tearing metal and shattering safety glass filled the cabin as we broke through the blockade, rocketing up the winding wooded drive that led toward the Moretti estate.
“They’re behind us!” Marco yelled. “Three chase vehicles!”
“Get through the main gates,” Luca ordered, his voice terrifyingly calm, the voice of a general in the middle of a firefight. “Activate perimeter lockdown the second we clear the threshold.”
Seconds later, the Maybach tore through the wrought-iron gates of the estate. Massive steel security barriers slammed shut behind us, followed immediately by the automated thunder of heavy security rifles mounted on the gatehouse towers.
Gunfire erupted down by the perimeter, but we were already screeching to a halt beneath the grand stone portico of the mansion.
The doors were wrenched open from the outside by Luca’s estate guards.
“Out! Now!” Luca commanded, pulling me and Sofia up in one swift motion.
He didn't wait for us to walk. Luca scooped Sofia into his left arm, grabbed my wrist with his right hand, and practically dragged us through the reinforced double doors into the foyer.
Mrs. Gable was waiting in the hallway, clutching a rosary, her face pale as chalk.
“Take them to the panic room in the sub-basement,” Luca ordered, handing Sofia to the housekeeper.
“No! Daddy!” Sofia wailed, reaching her little arms out toward him.
“I’ll be right behind you, princess,” Luca promised, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Go with Mrs. Gable. Emma, go with her.”
I didn't move.
I stood there in the marble foyer, my silk gown torn at the hem, my hair coming undone, looking at the man who had just used his own body to shield me from bullets. Behind him, outside the tall windows, muzzle flashes lit up the dark pine trees near the front gates.
“Luca, they have high-caliber rifles,” I said, my voice shaking with raw terror. “They’re not here to intimidate you. Marcus Santoro sent hitmen.”
Luca looked at me. In the middle of an active siege, with gunfire rattling the windows of his ancestral home, a slow, dark smile spread across his lips.
“Marcus Santoro didn't send hitmen, Emma,” Luca said, checking the magazine of his weapon. “He sent a suicide squad. Because what he doesn't know is that my men took his shipping yards an hour ago. He has nowhere to run. This is his dying breath.”
He stepped forward, his hand sliding behind the nape of my neck. Pulling me toward him, he pressed his lips hard against mine.
The kiss was fierce, desperate, tasting of bourbon, rain, and danger. It knocked the breath out of me, shattering every boundary that had existed between master and servant, rich and poor. In that single, electric second, nothing else in the world existed except his hands, his mouth, and the fire roaring between us.
He broke the kiss, his dark eyes blazing.
May you like
“Go to the basement,” he murmured against my lips. “Keep my daughter safe. When the sun comes up, this war is over.”
***
