Chapter 9 - Retaliation
Wealthy, powerful families do not accept defeat easily.
Even behind bars, awaiting bail hearings in federal holding cells, the Sterlings had resources. And Isabella Sterling was consumed by a venomous, all-consuming obsession: if she could not have Luca Moretti, she would make sure no one else did, either.
Two days after the boardroom arrests, the Moretti estate was placed on high alert.
Julian had posted a three-million-dollar cash bail, secured by offshore assets the government had not yet frozen. He was out on electronic monitoring, supposedly confined to his penthouse.
Luca had doubled the security perimeter around the estate. Marco had six armed men patrolling the grounds at all hours.
I spent most of the day in Mrs. Bellini’s sitting room.
My hand was healing well, according to Dr. Hayes, though I still had to wear a protective brace for another three weeks. Lily had called me that morning from the hospital, her voice brighter and stronger than it had been in months. She had told me about the new private suite they had moved her to, and how the doctors were optimistic about a new therapy protocol.
Everything should have felt peaceful.
Yet, a cold dread hung over the house like a dark storm cloud.
At four in the afternoon, Mrs. Bellini began to complain of a sudden, sharp tightness in her chest.
“It’s just heartburn, Emma,” she whispered, waving a frail hand dismissively as she rested on the chaise lounge. “Don't look so worried.”
“You’re pale, Mrs. Bellini,” I said, kneeling beside her and taking her pulse.
Her heartbeat was alarmingly rapid and erratic. Her skin felt clammy, a sheen of cold sweat glistening on her forehead.
“Where is Dr. Hayes?” I asked, standing up in a panic.
“He had surgery at Mercy this afternoon,” Mrs. Bellini murmured, her breathing turning shallow. “Call… call the kitchen. Ask Mrs. Higgins for my digitalis drops. The small brown bottle on the butler’s pantry shelf.”
I hurried down the service stairs to the kitchen.
The kitchen was strangely empty. Mrs. Higgins, the head cook, was nowhere to be seen.
On the marble counter of the butler’s pantry sat the small amber glass bottle of digitalis drops Mrs. Bellini had used for years to regulate her arrhythmia.
I reached for the bottle.
Then, I stopped.
Something caught my eye.
The label on the bottle was slightly crooked. A tiny smear of fresh, sticky adhesive was visible near the corner of the label.
My stomach twisted into a violent knot.
I picked up the bottle and unscrewed the dropper cap. The medicine Mrs. Bellini normally took was clear and had a faint herbal scent.
The liquid inside this bottle was cloudy. It smelled faintly of bitter almonds.
*Cyanide.*
My blood ran cold.
Someone had replaced her heart medication.
Before I could scream for Marco, a shadow fell across the pantry doorway.
I spun around.
Standing in the doorway was Julian Moretti.
He wasn't wearing his expensive suits. He wore a dark mechanic’s jumpsuit and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. In his right hand, he held a heavy steel wrench.
“You have very good eyes, Emma,” Julian whispered, stepping into the pantry and shutting the door behind him.
I backed away until my spine hit the marble counter, clutching the poisoned bottle to my chest with my good hand.
“You’re supposed to be in your penthouse,” I said, my voice shaking. “You have an ankle monitor.”
Julian laughed, a low, unhinged sound that sent chills down my spine. “A clone transmitter on a stray dog in Queens is taking a lovely stroll right now. By the time the marshals realize I cut the strap, I’ll be on a private boat to the Bahamas.”
He took another step toward me, raising the wrench.
“Isabella told me you were clever,” Julian sneered. “She was right. You ruined everything. My inheritance, our contracts, my family name… all because of a little nobody from the Bronx.”
“Julian, stop,” I pleaded, looking desperately around the pantry for a weapon. “The security guards are outside. Marco is in the courtyard. If you make a sound—”
“Marco is dealing with a fire in the carriage house,” Julian interrupted, his eyes gleaming with psychotic delight. “A little diversion I set ten minutes ago. No one is coming, Emma. And after I finish with you, I’ll take that bottle upstairs and help my dear grandmother take her medicine.”
A wave of pure, primal fury washed over my terror.
He was going to kill Mrs. Bellini.
He was going to murder an innocent ninety-one-year-old woman just to hurt Luca.
“You won't touch her,” I hissed.
Julian lunged forward, swinging the heavy wrench down toward my head.
I ducked to the left, the steel tool whistling past my ear and smashing into the ceramic backsplash with an explosive crack, shattering the tiles.
Ignoring the pain in my splinted hand, I grabbed the heavy marble cutting board off the counter with both arms and slammed it into Julian’s ribs with all the strength in my body.
Julian grunted, stumbling backward, dropping the wrench onto the tiled floor.
I didn't try to run out the door; Julian was blocking it. Instead, I grabbed the fire extinguisher mounted on the pantry wall, pulled the pin, and aimed the nozzle directly into his face.
I squeezed the trigger.
A massive cloud of white, blinding chemical powder blasted Julian directly in the eyes and mouth.
Julian shrieked in agony, clutching his face, coughing and gagging violently as the powder choked his airway.
I used the momentum to slam the heavy cylinder against his shoulder, knocking him to the floor, and bolted through the pantry door into the main hallway.
“Marco!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, sprinting down the corridor toward the grand entrance. “Security! Marco!”
The front doors of the estate burst open.
Luca walked in, his overcoat half-on, looking as if he had run all the way from the front gates. His face was pale with panic.
“Emma!” he yelled, sprinting toward me.
Behind me, the pantry door flew open.
Julian stumbled into the hallway, covered in white chemical powder, his eyes bloodshot and wild, holding a kitchen carving knife he had grabbed from the counter.
“Luca!” Julian screamed, charging blindly toward us.
Luca didn't hesitate for a single fraction of a second.
He shoved me behind his back, stepping directly into Julian’s path.
As Julian lunged with the knife, Luca sidestepped the blade with military precision, grabbed Julian’s wrist, and twisted it violently downward until a sickening *snap* echoed through the high-ceilinged hallway.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Julian screamed in agony, but Luca wasn't finished.
With a roar of pure, unbridled fury, Luca drove his fist into Julian’s jaw, knocking him completely off his feet. Julian slammed onto the hardwood floor, unconscious, blood pooling from his split lip.
Marco and three armed guards burst through the front doors a second later, their guns drawn, smelling of smoke from the extinguished carriage house fire.
“Take him,” Luca commanded, his chest heaving, his voice shaking with absolute rage. “Call the FBI. Tell them Julian Moretti broke his bail conditions and attempted a double homicide.”
Marco and the guards dragged Julian’s limp body away.
Luca stood in the center of the grand hallway, his hands shaking, his dark hair falling across his forehead.
He slowly turned to look at me.
I was standing against the wall, trembling uncontrollably, the poisoned bottle of digitalis drops still clutched tightly in my left hand.
Luca crossed the distance between us in two strides.
He didn't say a word.
He pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my hair, holding me so tightly against his chest that I could feel the thunderous, frantic beat of his heart.
“You’re alive,” he whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion I had never heard in him before. “God, Emma… you’re alive.”
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I buried my face in his shoulder, the tears finally bursting free, soaking into his coat as his arms held me like a fortress against the world.
***
