Chapter 7 - The Debts We Owe
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The delivery driver didn't even have time to scream.
The high-caliber round took him squarely in the shoulder, throwing him violently backward across the Persian rug.
His weapon clattered harmlessly against the baseboard.
Before Celeste could react, a massive hand grabbed her wrist, twisting it upward with brutal, bone-snapping precision.
Her silver revolver dropped to the floor.
She shrieked in agony as Marco spun her around, slamming her against the mahogany desk with enough force to knock the breath entirely from her lungs.
Daniel stepped through the shattered French doors, holding an assault rifle aimed at the groaning driver on the floor.
“Move an inch,” Daniel warned the man, “and the next one won't hit your shoulder.”
Marco stood over Celeste, his fingers locked around her throat just tightly enough to hold her in place.
His face was a mask of cold, terrifying darkness.
“Did you think I didn't know about the service gate, Susie?” Marco asked softly.
Celeste clawed at his fingers, gasping for air, her haughty confidence dissolving into pure panic.
“Marco... please...” she choked out.
“Two of my men were waiting outside the service road,” Marco continued, his voice devoid of any human warmth.
“Anthony Moretti is currently in the back of an unmarked van, on his way to an abandoned warehouse near the navy yard.
Your brother failed you.
Just like you failed him.”
Daniel walked over to the desk, looking down at the woman he had once loved enough to sacrifice two years of his freedom.
Celeste looked up at Daniel, her eyes desperate, trying to find a glimmer of the man who had bought her an engagement ring three years ago.
“Danny...” she sobbed.
“Danny, you know me...
He forced me into this!
Anthony threatened to kill me if I didn't do what the family wanted!
I did it to survive!”
Daniel stared at her for a long, agonizing moment.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Only a profound, hollow pity.
“You sat in that prison visiting booth seven days ago, Susie,” Daniel said, his voice flat and steady.
“You looked through the glass and told me you would dance on my grave when Marco put me in the ground.
You didn't do this to survive.
You did it because you enjoy watching good men tear each other apart.”
Daniel reached down, picked up the leather duffel bag containing their father’s ledgers, and zipped it shut.
“Get her out of my sight, Marco,” Daniel murmured, turning his back on her.
“She isn't worth the bullet.”
Marco signaled toward the doorway.
Four armed security guards rushed in, securing Celeste in heavy metal handcuffs while two others dragged the wounded driver out into the hallway.
Celeste screamed obscenities the entire way down the hall, cursing the Bellini name, until the heavy doors at the end of the corridor slammed shut, swallowing her cries.
Silence returned to the room.
I leaned against the wall, my legs trembling so violently I could barely stay upright.
The adrenaline was draining from my body, leaving me dizzy and shivering.
Suddenly, warm hands caught my shoulders.
I looked up to find Marco standing right in front of me.
His dark eyes were wide with a fierce, protective urgency that took my breath away.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his hands moving to cup my face, inspecting my skin for any sign of injury.
“Olivia, did she touch you?”
“I’m... I’m fine, Mr. Bellini,” I stammered, my heart thumping wildly against my chest from his proximity.
“Just a little shaken.”
“You called me Marco this morning,” he said, his thumbs gently wiping away a stray tear I hadn't realized had fallen.
“Call me Marco.”
“Marco,” I whispered, the name feeling heavy and sacred on my lips.
He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me in a tight, protective embrace.
I rested my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedar, rain, and clean linen.
For the first time in nine months of scrubbing floors and polishing silver in this lonely mansion, I felt entirely safe.
“You stood your ground against two armed killers to protect my father’s name,” Marco murmured against my hair.
“No one has ever shown this family that kind of courage without asking for a single dollar in return.”
“Your father’s memory deserved to be defended,” I replied softly into his shirt.
Marco pulled back slightly, looking down into my eyes with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade away.
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“Tonight, we finish this,” Marco vowed softly.
“And when the sun comes up tomorrow, Olivia, you will never have to wear a maid’s uniform again.”
