Chapter 10 - The Empty Shell
The explosion of the shotgun in the enclosed conservatory was deafening. The sound slammed against my eardrums, vibrating through the glass walls.
I screamed, instinctively throwing myself in front of Teresa to shield her.
But the blast didn't hit Luca. It didn't hit any of us.
The massive glass chandelier hanging in the center of the conservatory shattered into a million pieces, raining crystal shards down upon the expensive rugs.
The assassin hadn't aimed at Luca. He had aimed at the ceiling.
He pumped the shotgun again, leveling it back at Luca’s chest.
"That was a warning," the assassin rasped, spitting blood from his broken nose onto the pristine floor. "The next one goes through your heart, Moretti."
Luca didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, his body angled slightly to block both me and Teresa from the line of fire. His hands were empty, raised slowly in a gesture of surrender.
"You're making a mistake, Victor," Luca said calmly.
The assassin, Victor, sneered. "My boss is bleeding out in a van because of you. My orders were clear. If Marco goes down, the Moretti bloodline ends tonight."
"Marco is done," Luca said, his voice steady. "The Commission has the microfilm. They know Marco killed Tessa. They know he extorted my father. If you kill me, you won't get a medal. The Commission will hunt you down like a rabid dog."
Victor laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "I don't care about the Commission. Marco paid me in advance. Two million offshore. I'm retiring after tonight."
He stepped further into the conservatory, his boots crunching loudly on the broken crystal. He kept the shotgun aimed squarely at Luca, but his dark, dead eyes flicked toward me and Teresa.
"The old woman dies too," Victor stated coldly. "Marco was very specific about that."
Teresa gripped my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. She wasn't trembling anymore. She stood tall, a fierce, protective energy radiating from her.
"You don't have to do this," I pleaded, my voice shaking. "Take the money and run. You have a head start."
Victor sneered at me. "You're the maid who broke my nose. I'm going to enjoy killing you."
He adjusted his grip on the shotgun, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"Wait," Luca commanded sharply.
Victor paused.
"You want to kill me?" Luca asked, taking a slow step toward the assassin, moving further away from me and Teresa. "Fine. But you look me in the eye when you do it. Leave them out of it."
"Luca, no!" Teresa screamed.
"Stay back, Mom," Luca ordered, not looking at her. He kept his eyes locked on Victor. "It's just me and you, Victor. A clean shot."
Victor grinned, a grotesque expression on his battered face. "A martyr. How touching. Goodbye, Moretti."
He pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
A hollow, metallic click echoed through the room. No explosion. No gunfire.
Victor frowned, confusion flashing across his face. He quickly pumped the shotgun, ejecting an empty red plastic shell onto the floor, and pulled the trigger again.
CLICK.
Another empty shell.
Luca didn't hesitate. Before Victor could realize the weapon was completely unloaded, Luca lunged forward with terrifying speed.
He didn't draw a gun. He used his bare hands.
Luca slammed into Victor, driving his shoulder directly into the assassin’s chest. The force lifted Victor off his feet, sending him crashing backward through the heavy mahogany doors and into the grand foyer.
The shotgun clattered across the marble floor, useless.
Luca was on top of him in an instant, raining down brutal, punishing blows. Years of suppressed rage, of fighting to survive in a violent world he was forced into, poured out in a torrential fury.
I rushed to the doorway, pulling Teresa with me, staying clear of the fight.
Victor managed to block a punch and threw a desperate knee into Luca’s ribs, knocking him sideways. Victor scrambled to his feet, pulling a combat knife from a sheath on his belt.
He lunged at Luca, slashing wildly.
Luca dodged the first strike, caught Victor’s wrist with his left hand, and twisted violently. A sickening snap echoed in the foyer as Victor’s wrist broke. The knife dropped to the floor.
With a final, devastating right hook, Luca struck Victor across the jaw. The assassin collapsed onto the marble, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Luca stood over him, breathing heavily, his knuckles bleeding.
He looked down at the useless shotgun lying a few feet away, then back at the empty red shells scattered in the conservatory.
"How?" Luca panted, looking around in confusion. "Who unloaded his weapon?"
I heard a soft, shuffling footstep behind us.
We turned around.
Standing in the shadows of the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall for support, was Daniel. The house manager was pale, his head bandage soaked with blood, but he was holding a handful of heavy shotgun slugs.
"I saw him coming through the back entrance," Daniel said weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He left the gun on the kitchen counter for a moment to grab a towel for his nose. I... I emptied the magazine while he wasn't looking."
Luca stared at the loyal house manager in absolute shock.
"You saved my life, Daniel," Luca said, his voice thick with emotion.
Daniel offered a faint, exhausted smile. "You saved your mother's garden, Mr. Moretti. It was the least I could do."
Before he could say another word, Daniel's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor.
"Daniel!" I screamed, rushing toward him.
Luca was right behind me, pressing two fingers to the older man's neck.
"He's got a pulse," Luca said urgently. "He's just passed out from the blood loss. We need an ambulance, right now."
I grabbed the landline phone from the hallway table and dialed 911, my fingers slipping on the buttons. I screamed for an ambulance to be sent to the Moretti estate immediately.
For the next twenty minutes, the house was a blur of flashing red and blue lights. Paramedics rushed in, stabilizing Daniel and carrying him out on a stretcher. Heavily armed police officers, alerted by the gunshot and the 911 call, swarmed the property.
Luca’s men quietly melted away into the shadows before the police arrived, leaving only Luca, Teresa, and me to answer questions.
Luca handled the police with practiced ease, spinning a narrative of a home invasion gone wrong, claiming Victor was a random burglar. The police, well aware of who Luca was, didn't push too hard, eager to wrap up the scene and leave the mafia boss to his own devices.
By 3:00 AM, the house was finally quiet again. The police were gone. Victor had been hauled away in handcuffs.
The storm outside had finally broken, leaving behind a cold, clear night sky.
I sat on the velvet sofa in the main living room, completely exhausted. My clothes were damp, and I still held the silver bracelet tightly in my hand.
Luca walked in, carrying three glasses of amber liquid. He handed one to me and one to Teresa, who was sitting in the armchair across from me.
"Drink," Luca said softly. "It helps with the shock."
I took a sip. The whiskey burned down my throat, grounding me in reality.
Luca sat down next to his mother. He looked at me, a profound sadness in his dark eyes.
"Hannah," Luca started, his voice thick. "I don't even know what to call you. My sister. My blood."
"Hannah is fine," I smiled weakly. "It's what I'm used to."
"You shouldn't have to be used to it," Luca said fiercely. "You should have grown up in this house. You should have had everything I had. My father stole your life."
"No," Teresa spoke up, her voice gentle but firm.
We both looked at her.
Teresa set her glass down and leaned forward, looking deeply into my eyes.
"Antonio didn't steal your life, Hannah," Teresa said softly. "He gave you one. He gave you a life away from this violence. Away from the guns, the extortion, the constant fear. He gave you a chance to be normal. To be safe."
She reached out and took my hand.
"The woman who raised you... Collins?" Teresa asked.
"Her name is Mary," I said, a tear slipping down my cheek. "She's sick right now, but she... she was a wonderful mother. She loved me. We didn't have much money, but we had peace."
Teresa smiled through her tears. "Then she did a better job than I ever could have in this house. I don't resent her, Hannah. I am deeply, profoundly grateful to her."
I squeezed her hand, overwhelmed by the grace of this incredible woman.
"But you're not a secret anymore," Luca said, leaning forward. "You're a Moretti. And I am going to make sure you and Mary never have to worry about money, or safety, or anything else for the rest of your lives."
I looked at him, seeing not a mafia boss, but a brother who desperately wanted to protect his newfound family.
"Thank you, Luca," I whispered.
The heavy atmosphere finally began to lift. We sat together in the quiet living room, three fractured pieces of a family finally finding their way back together.
But as the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, casting a pale gray light across the room, the landline phone on the hallway table rang.
It was a harsh, jarring sound in the quiet house.
Luca frowned. Nobody called this house at 5:00 AM unless it was a catastrophe.
He stood up and walked to the hallway, picking up the receiver.
"Moretti," Luca answered shortly.
He listened for a long moment. His face, which had finally relaxed, instantly hardened into a mask of pure, terrifying shock.
"Are you certain?" Luca asked, his voice barely a whisper.
He listened again, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone.
"I'll be right there."
He hung up the phone slowly, turning back to face me and Teresa.
"Luca, what is it?" Teresa asked, alarm rising in her voice.
Luca looked at me, his eyes wide with a fear I hadn't seen him display all night. Not even when facing a shotgun.
"That was my contact at the Commission," Luca said, his voice trembling.
"Did they deal with Marco?" I asked.
"Yes," Luca nodded grimly. "They intercepted the van an hour ago. But when they opened the back doors... Marco Bellini was dead."
"Dead?" Teresa gasped. "Did his wounds—"
"No," Luca interrupted, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. "He didn't bleed out, Mom. Somebody slit his throat in the back of the van."
May you like
He took a slow step toward us.
"And Vanessa is missing."
