Chapter 3 - THE BREACH
The silence that followed Daniel’s words was absolute.
I stared at the black screen of the smartphone in Luca’s hand, the words Execute Protocol echoing in my mind like a death sentence.
“They cut the cameras?” Luca asked, his voice devoid of panic, replaced by a cold, calculating efficiency.
“Yes, sir,” Daniel confirmed, drawing his weapon. “The perimeter sensors are still active, but we’re flying blind at the main gate. The Bellinis aren't wasting time. If Marcus thinks you know about the hospital, he won't wait for a sit-down with the Commission. He’ll strike tonight to silence us.”
Luca didn't hesitate.
“Lock down the estate,” Luca ordered. “Drop the blast shields on the first-floor windows. Arm every man on the property. Nobody gets in or out.”
“On it,” Daniel nodded, turning on his heel and sprinting down the hallway, shouting orders into his radio.
Luca turned to me.
“Claire,” he said, his eyes fierce. “You need to get out of the open. Go to the safe room in the basement. It’s behind the wine cellar. Don't come out until I come for you.”
I shook my head instinctively. “I can't just hide while—”
“This isn't a negotiation,” Luca interrupted, grabbing my shoulders with a firm, protective grip. “Marcus Bellini is sending a hit squad to my front door. You are a civilian. You go to the safe room. Now.”
Before I could argue, a massive, reverberating BOOM shook the foundation of the mansion.
Dust rained down from the ceiling as the heavy crystal chandelier swung violently above us.
“They breached the main gate,” Luca growled, pulling his own weapon from a shoulder holster hidden beneath his suit jacket.
He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out of the dining room, pulling me down the grand hallway toward the kitchen stairs.
Gunfire erupted outside. The sharp, rapid pop-pop-pop of automatic rifles shattered the quiet Chicago night. Shouts and screams echoed through the thick mahogany doors as Moretti guards engaged the incoming Bellini soldiers.
“Keep your head down!” Luca yelled over the noise, pushing me toward the heavy oak door leading to the basement.
I scrambled down the wooden stairs, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs. The basement was cool and smelled of damp earth and expensive wine.
Luca followed me down, pulling the door shut and throwing the heavy deadbolt.
“Go to the back of the cellar,” Luca instructed, moving quickly past rows of vintage wine racks.
He reached the far wall and pressed a hidden panel behind a rack of Cabernet. A heavy steel door slid open with a mechanical hum, revealing a reinforced concrete safe room.
“Get in,” Luca commanded.
I stepped inside. The room was sparse, equipped with a cot, medical supplies, and a bank of security monitors.
Luca didn't step in with me.
“I have to go back up,” Luca said, checking his magazine.
“No!” I cried out, grabbing his sleeve. “They’ll kill you! You said Marcus sent a hit squad!”
Luca looked down at my hand clutching his jacket. His expression softened for a fraction of a second.
“Marcus Bellini tried to murder my father,” Luca said softly. “He used my fiancée to lie to me. If I hide in a bunker while my men bleed on my front lawn, I don't deserve to lead this family.”
He gently pried my fingers off his sleeve.
“Lock the door behind me. I’ll come back for you.”
He turned and sprinted back up the basement stairs.
The heavy steel door slid shut automatically, sealing me inside the concrete bunker with a final, echoing thud.
I was alone.
The silence inside the safe room was deafening, but it didn't last. Through the thick concrete, I could feel the muffled vibrations of explosions and gunfire rocking the mansion above. It was a war zone.
I ran to the bank of security monitors on the desk.
Half of the screens were static, the cameras destroyed in the initial assault. But a few interior cameras were still functioning.
I watched the screen displaying the grand foyer.
Moretti guards were taking cover behind overturned marble tables, returning fire toward the shattered front doors. Bellini soldiers, dressed in dark tactical gear, were swarming the entrance.
Then, the camera in the study flickered to life.
The study where Daniel had locked Vanessa.
I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice.
Vanessa wasn't cowering in a corner. She was standing by the heavy mahogany desk, franticly tearing through the drawers. She pulled out a heavy, ornate silver key.
She wasn't looking for a weapon. She was looking for something specific.
She ran to the large oil painting hanging behind the desk—a portrait of Antonio Moretti. She pulled the painting aside, revealing a hidden wall safe.
She inserted the silver key and spun the dial.
The safe clicked open.
Vanessa reached inside and pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger.
My breath caught in my throat. I didn't know much about the mafia, but I knew what a ledger meant. It was the financial bloodline of the family. The blackmail, the payoffs, the hidden accounts.
Vanessa shoved the ledger into her designer purse.
But as she turned to leave, the study doors burst open.
Two Bellini soldiers rushed in, their rifles raised.
Vanessa didn't scream. She smiled.
“Did you secure the perimeter?” Vanessa asked the soldiers on the silent video feed.
They nodded.
She had coordinated her own extraction. The entire assault on the front gate was a distraction.
Vanessa pointed toward the back of the study, where a set of French doors led to the private gardens. The soldiers flanked her, ready to escort her out.
I couldn't just sit there. If Vanessa escaped with that ledger, she could destroy Luca and his entire family, even if they survived the gunfight upstairs.
I scanned the desk in the safe room. There was no radio. No phone.
But there was a small red button labeled FIRE SUPPRESSION OVERRIDE.
I didn't know what it would do, but I knew I had to stop her.
I slammed my hand down on the button.
On the monitors, the sprinkler system in the study instantly activated. But it wasn't water that poured from the ceiling.
It was Halon gas. Thick, white fire-suppression foam blasted into the room, blinding the cameras and suffocating the oxygen.
On the screen, I saw the two soldiers panic, dropping their weapons and coughing violently as the room filled with the dense, white fog.
Vanessa screamed, dropping her purse as she stumbled blindly through the foam, desperately trying to find the French doors.
I grabbed a heavy Maglite flashlight from the desk, hit the door release for the safe room, and ran back into the wine cellar.
I wasn't going to let her leave with that ledger.
I sprinted up the basement stairs, pushing the oak door open cautiously.
The mansion was filled with smoke and the smell of cordite. The gunfire in the foyer was still deafening, but the hallway leading to the study was eerily quiet.
I crept down the corridor, gripping the heavy flashlight like a club.
The study doors were wide open, white Halon gas pouring out into the hallway.
I took a deep breath, covered my mouth with my apron, and stepped into the fog.
I couldn't see more than two feet in front of me. The soldiers were coughing violently somewhere near the windows.
My foot bumped into something soft on the floor.
It was Vanessa’s designer purse.
I dropped to my knees, grabbed the heavy leather ledger, and shoved it into the deep pocket of my apron.
“Who’s there?!” Vanessa shrieked through the fog, coughing wildly.
I didn't answer. I turned to crawl back out of the room.
But before I could reach the hallway, a heavy hand grabbed the collar of my uniform, violently hauling me to my feet.
The fog parted slightly, revealing the face of one of the Bellini soldiers.
He aimed his rifle directly at my chest.
“Got one,” the soldier grunted.
Before he could pull the trigger, a massive shadow lunged through the white smoke.
It was Luca.
He didn't fire his weapon. He slammed into the soldier like a freight train, driving the man backward through the French doors and out into the garden, shattering the glass.
Luca spun around, his suit torn, blood on his collar, his chest heaving.
He looked at me, absolute fury and terror warring in his dark eyes.
“I told you to stay in the bunker!” Luca roared over the noise of the assault.
“She took the ledger!” I yelled back, pulling the heavy leather book from my apron to show him. “I got it back!”
Luca stared at the ledger, realizing exactly what I had just risked my life for.
Before he could speak, the fog in the study cleared just enough to reveal Vanessa.
She was standing near the desk, holding a small, silver pistol she had pulled from an ankle holster.
Her hands were shaking, her mascara ruined, coughing violently from the gas.
But the gun wasn't aimed at me.
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It was aimed directly at Luca’s head.
“Drop the book, Claire,” Vanessa sobbed, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Or I swear to God, I’ll finish what my father started.”
