Chapter 7 - The Loaded Gun in the Hallway
The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving me standing in the dim light of the study with a loaded gun in my hands.
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I could hear it in my ears. I stared at the dark metal weapon, the cold steel biting into my palms. I was twenty-six years old. Twelve hours ago, my biggest concern was making sure the silver was polished for the engagement dinner. Now, I was holding a lethal weapon to protect an eighty-two-year-old mafia matriarch from a siege.
“Lock it, child,” Rosa’s voice came from the leather sofa, calm and terrifyingly steady.
I scrambled to the door and threw the heavy brass deadbolt. I backed away, keeping the gun pointed at the wood, my hands shaking violently.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The silver watch on the mahogany desk continued its relentless rhythm. It felt like a countdown to something horrible.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the door. “What is in the vault? Why is Marco so desperate to destroy it?”
Rosa shifted on the sofa, adjusting her lavender dress with the quiet dignity of a queen awaiting her fate.
“My husband, Antonio, was a brilliant man,” Rosa said softly. “But he knew the syndicate was a poison. It corrupted everyone it touched. Fourteen years ago, when your father died protecting him, Antonio realized the Bellini family would never stop trying to claim power. So, he drafted a final, absolute decree.”
I glanced back at her. “A decree?”
“A Blood Edict,” Rosa explained, her dark eyes reflecting the dim desk lamp. “A legally binding document within our underground laws. It stated that if any member of the Bellini bloodline ever attempted a coup against the Morettis again, they would be permanently excommunicated from the syndicate. Stripped of all assets, protection, and status.”
My breath caught. “A death sentence.”
“Yes,” Rosa nodded. “Without the syndicate’s protection, their rivals would tear them apart in a week. Marco knows the Edict exists. He knows it’s locked in the vault, which is why he needed the key. He wants to burn it before the Elders can enforce it.”
Suddenly, a massive crash echoed from the floor below us.
It sounded like a heavy wooden door being kicked off its hinges, followed immediately by the chaotic, staccato pop of gunfire.
I jumped, pointing the gun squarely at the study door, my finger resting dangerously close to the trigger.
The shouting started. Muffled voices, angry and frantic, echoing up the grand staircase.
“Where is he?!” a man’s voice roared from the hallway outside.
“They breached the second floor,” Rosa whispered, her hands gripping the armrests of her sofa.
More gunfire. This time, it was right outside the door.
I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified a bullet was going to rip through the oak wood and strike me. The sound was deafening. The heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor sent violent vibrations through the floorboards beneath my feet.
Then, silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence that was worse than the gunfire.
I stared at the brass doorknob. Ten minutes hadn't passed yet. It had only been three.
Click. Jiggle.
Someone was testing the handle.
I backed up until my spine hit Luca’s mahogany desk. I raised the gun, aiming it at the center of the door, exactly at chest height.
“Mr. Moretti?” I called out, my voice cracking.
No answer.
Just the sound of heavy breathing on the other side of the wood.
Then, a voice spoke. But it wasn't Luca’s deep, smooth baritone.
“Open the door, Emily.”
It was Marco Bellini.
My blood turned to ice. “How did you get out of the cellar?”
“A few loyal friends,” Marco chuckled, though his voice sounded strained and wet. “Luca was busy greeting the Elders in the foyer. He left his flank completely exposed. Now, open the door, or I will shoot the hinges off and kill the old woman first.”
“I have a gun!” I screamed, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it. “If you come in here, I’ll shoot you!”
Marco laughed. It was a wet, coughing sound. “You’re a maid, Emily. You polish silver. You don't pull triggers. Now open it.”
BAM.
A bullet tore through the door frame, splintering the wood inches from the lock. I screamed, ducking behind the massive desk, covering my ears.
BAM. BAM.
The deadbolt shattered. The heavy oak door swung open with a violent groan.
Marco Bellini stumbled into the room.
He looked horrific. His expensive gray suit was soaked in blood, a massive dark stain spreading across his stomach. He was holding a gun in his right hand, but his arm was shaking violently. He had taken a hit downstairs, but sheer, desperate adrenaline was keeping him on his feet.
He locked his wild, empty eyes on me.
“Give me the watch,” Marco gasped, pointing his gun at me.
I stood up from behind the desk, raising Luca’s heavy steel pistol. My arms felt like they were made of lead. I was staring down the barrel of a murderer’s weapon, the man who had shot my father in an alleyway fourteen years ago.
“No,” I whispered, my voice finding a sudden, terrifying resolve.
Marco’s lip curled. He shifted his aim away from me, pointing his gun directly at Rosa sitting on the sofa.
“Give me the watch,” Marco repeated, his finger tightening on his trigger, “or I blow her head off.”
I froze. I couldn't let Rosa die. I couldn't.
I slowly lowered my gun. I reached onto the desk with my left hand and picked up the glowing silver pocket watch.
Marco grinned, a bloody, victorious smile.
But as I held the watch out toward him, a shadow detached itself from the hallway behind him.
Luca Moretti stood in the doorway.
He didn't say a word. He didn't issue a warning.
Luca raised his weapon and fired a single shot.
The bullet struck Marco in the back of the knee. Marco screamed, his leg buckling instantly, and he collapsed onto the Persian rug, dropping his gun.
Luca stepped into the room, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying calm. Behind him, standing in the hallway, were five elderly men in impeccably tailored suits, flanked by heavily armed guards.
The Syndicate Elders.
“You are out of time, Marco,” Luca said, walking past the bleeding man on the floor.
Luca walked to his desk. He didn't look at the painting on the wall, or the bookshelf. He looked at the massive stone fireplace at the back of the study.
He took the silver watch from my hand.
He walked to the fireplace mantle, reached up to the intricately carved stone lion in the center, and pressed the silver watch directly into the lion’s open mouth.
There was a heavy, mechanical grinding sound.
The entire stone mantle shifted forward, then slid to the left, revealing a hidden steel compartment behind the bricks.
The Master Vault.
Luca reached inside and pulled out a thick, sealed envelope stamped with red wax.
Marco, bleeding on the floor, began to laugh. It was a hysterical, desperate sound.
“Read it!” Marco shouted, pointing a shaking, bloody finger at the envelope. “Go ahead, Luca! Read the great Antonio’s final decree!”
Marco looked at the five Elders standing in the doorway.
“He didn't disinherit my family!” Marco screamed, a manic gleam in his eye. “Tell them, Rosa! Tell them what Antonio really wrote before he died!”
The Elders looked at Rosa.
Rosa closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her wrinkled cheek.
“He’s right,” Rosa whispered, her voice breaking the silence like fragile glass.
I looked at her, completely confused. “What do you mean?”
May you like
Luca stared at the red wax seal on the envelope, his brow furrowing.
“Antonio didn't write the Blood Edict to banish the Bellini family,” Rosa said, opening her eyes, her gaze locking onto Luca with profound sorrow. “He wrote it to banish you, Luca.”
