Chapter 8 - THE HEIRLOOM RING
"If my empire burns, I take yours!" Carmine screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger of the revolver.
Time seemed to slow down.
Hannah stood frozen, staring down the barrel of the gun. She saw the flash of the muzzle. She heard the deafening roar of the gunshot in the enclosed lounge.
But the bullet didn't hit her.
A massive force slammed into her side, knocking her violently to the hardwood floor.
It wasn't Alessandro.
It was her father.
Marcus Cooper had thrown himself in front of his daughter, taking the bullet squarely in his right shoulder. He hit the ground with a heavy grunt, his leather jacket instantly soaking with blood.
"Dad!" Hannah screamed, dropping to her knees beside him.
The lounge erupted into absolute chaos.
Alessandro didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He raised his weapon and fired three times. Precision shots.
The first bullet shattered Carmine’s right wrist, sending the silver revolver spinning across the floor.
The second bullet took out Carmine’s left kneecap, dropping the old man to the floor with a shrieking wail of agony.
The third bullet shattered the scotch glass on the table next to Brian.
Brian screamed, dropping his gun in sheer terror, and dove behind the leather sofa, curling into a pathetic ball.
Alessandro walked forward, his boots crunching on the broken glass. He stopped over his uncle, looking down at the broken, bleeding old man with absolute disgust.
"You are finished, Carmine," Alessandro said coldly. "The families will hear the tape. You will have nowhere to hide."
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens pierced the night air. The flashing red and blue lights illuminated the frosted glass windows of the cigar lounge. Dozens of squad cars were pulling up outside.
"You called the cops?" Carmine laughed, spitting blood onto the floor. "You fool! You’re going to prison with me! The Feds don't care about syndicate rules! You're a boss!"
Alessandro ignored him. He turned and walked back to Hannah.
She was kneeling beside her father, pressing her hands against his bleeding shoulder. Marcus was pale, but he was breathing steadily. Claire had managed to wriggle out of her ropes and rushed over, collapsing beside them in tears.
"He's going to live," Alessandro said softly, kneeling beside Hannah. "The police paramedics are outside."
"We have to go!" Hannah panicked, pulling on his ruined suit jacket. "Alessandro, you have to run! They'll arrest you!"
Alessandro smiled. A genuine, heartbreaking smile that reached his dark eyes.
"I'm not running, Hannah," he whispered.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He flipped it open. Inside rested a breathtaking, vintage diamond ring—an heirloom passed down through generations of Vitale women, untainted by blood or betrayal.
He took her trembling hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
"What are you doing?" Hannah sobbed, the tears falling freely now.
"I bought this three weeks ago," Alessandro confessed, leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her forehead. "I was going to give it to you in Italy. But this will have to do."
"You can't go to prison!" she cried, clinging to his shirt.
"I won't," he promised softly. "Trust me. Just wait for me."
The front doors burst open. A dozen SWAT officers stormed into the lounge, their assault rifles raised, shouting orders to get on the ground.
Alessandro stood up slowly, raising his hands in the air. He didn't look at the police. He kept his eyes entirely on Hannah as an officer slammed him against the wall and locked heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
"Alessandro!" Hannah screamed as they dragged him toward the doors.
He didn't fight them. He just smiled at her one last time before disappearing into the flashing red and blue lights of the Chicago night.
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Hannah sat on the floor, her father bleeding beside her, her sister crying on her shoulder, and stared down at the beautiful diamond ring on her finger.
She was surrounded by chaos, but for the first time in her life, she felt completely, undeniably loved.
