Chapter 11 - THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
The cold dampness of the basement archive pressed in on us.
I squeezed Luca’s hand, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs.
The guard, a man named Thomas who had worked for the Morettis for five years, kept his gun trained steadily on Luca’s chest.
“Lorenzo called you,” Luca stated calmly, his voice betraying absolutely no fear.
“He offered me two million dollars to make sure you never make it to that airfield,” Thomas replied, swallowing hard. “Put the files down, boss. I don't want to shoot you in front of your fiancée.”
Answer One. Lorenzo wasn't waiting passively at the airfield. He had activated a sleeper agent inside the mansion to eliminate Luca and steal the evidence.
Open Two. But how did Thomas know we were coming to the basement?
“You followed us down here,” I realized aloud.
“I’ve been watching you all night, Emily,” Thomas sneered. “Lorenzo knew the old man kept backup files. He just needed you to lead me to them.”
Luca didn't flinch. He didn't drop the yellow envelope.
“Thomas,” Luca said softly. “Do you really think a man who sells out his own daughter is going to wire two million dollars to a traitor?”
Thomas’s hand shook slightly. “Shut up. Slide the envelope across the floor.”
Reversal.
Luca didn't slide the envelope. Instead, he let out a low, dark chuckle that echoed ominously off the concrete walls.
“You’ve worked for me for five years, Thomas,” Luca said, taking a slow step forward. “Have you ever known me to walk into a room without an exit strategy?”
Thomas frowned, his eyes darting nervously around the dim basement. “What are you talking about? It’s just you and the girl.”
“Is it?” Luca smiled.
From the shadows behind Thomas, a massive, rusted iron pipe swung through the air with terrifying speed.
It struck Thomas squarely in the back of the knees. The guard cried out in pain, his legs buckling. The silenced pistol clattered to the floor.
Before Thomas could recover, a heavy boot slammed onto his chest, pinning him to the concrete.
It was Daniel.
The older man stood over the traitor, his chest heaving, the iron pipe gripped tightly in his hands.
“I thought you were on a plane to Rome,” I gasped, clutching my chest in relief.
“I don't leave my boss’s side until the perimeter is secure,” Daniel growled, glaring down at Thomas. “I saw him slipping down the stairs behind you. I knew Lorenzo was too smart not to have an inside man.”
Luca walked over and picked up the dropped pistol. He looked down at Thomas with absolute disgust.
“Lock him in the wine cellar,” Luca ordered. “We’ll deal with him when I get back.”
“Luca, what about Michael?” Daniel asked urgently. “If I’m not on that plane, who is going to rescue your brother?”
Luca pulled a sleek black satellite phone from his pocket.
“I already sent Leo,” Luca said. “He’s in the air. He knows exactly what to do.”
An hour later, Luca and I sat in the back of his armored SUV, speeding down the deserted highway toward the Gary airfield.
The morning sun had fully risen, casting long, sharp shadows across the flat Indiana landscape.
“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” Luca asked, looking at me with deep concern. “It’s going to be dangerous.”
“I’m not leaving you, Luca,” I said, resting my head against his shoulder. “Not today. Not ever.”
He kissed the top of my head, a silent vow of protection.
The SUV pulled up to the perimeter of the private airfield. Through the chain-link fence, we could see a sleek, white Gulfstream jet idling on the tarmac, its engines whining softly.
Standing at the bottom of the airstairs, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries, was Lorenzo Ferraro.
He was wearing a tailored beige suit, looking completely unfazed by the collapse of his empire in Chicago.
Luca parked the SUV fifty yards away. We stepped out into the biting morning wind.
Luca carried the thick yellow envelope containing Lorenzo’s FBI connections in one hand, and the heavy leather-bound ledger in the other.
Lorenzo smiled broadly as we approached.
“Ah, Luca! And the lovely Emily,” Lorenzo called out over the roar of the jet engines. “I must say, I’m disappointed Thomas didn't delay you.”
“Thomas is currently locked in a room where he will spend the rest of his natural life,” Luca replied coldly, stopping twenty feet from the Italian businessman. “Where is my brother?”
“Safe and sound,” Lorenzo smiled, pulling his own phone from his pocket. “Hand me the ledger, and I make the call to Isabella. She takes Michael to a lovely breakfast in Positano, and they annul the marriage quietly.”
“Let me hear his voice first,” Luca demanded.
Lorenzo rolled his eyes dramatically, but he dialed a number and put it on speaker, holding it out for Luca to hear.
The phone rang twice before it was answered.
But it wasn't Isabella’s voice that came through the speaker.
It was Leo’s.
“Mr. Moretti,” Leo’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp and professional. “Target secured. Michael is safe. We apprehended Isabella at the dock before they could board the yacht. She is currently in the custody of the Italian Carabinieri.”
Lorenzo’s smug smile vanished instantly. His face went chalk-white.
“What?” Lorenzo stammered, staring at his phone. “Who is this? Where is my daughter?”
“Your daughter is facing twenty years for extortion, Lorenzo,” Leo replied coldly. “You should have picked a better honeymoon destination. My father has a lot of friends in Rome.”
The line went dead.
Luca looked at Lorenzo, his eyes burning with absolute triumph.
“Checkmate,” Luca whispered.
Lorenzo panicked. He dropped his phone and scrambled up the airstairs toward the jet. “Kill them!” he screamed to his mercenaries. “Kill them and get the book!”
The mercenaries raised their rifles.
But before they could fire a single shot, a massive convoy of black SUVs smashed through the chain-link gates of the airfield, sirens blaring and red-and-blue lights flashing wildly.
It wasn't Luca’s men.
It was the FBI.
They swarmed the tarmac, dozens of heavily armed federal agents leaping from their vehicles, aiming assault rifles at Lorenzo’s mercenaries.
“Drop your weapons!” a voice boomed over a megaphone.
The mercenaries, realizing they were massively outgunned and their paycheck was fleeing, immediately dropped their rifles and raised their hands in surrender.
Lorenzo froze at the top of the stairs, trapped between the FBI below and the closed door of the jet above.
Luca walked calmly toward the lead FBI agent, handing him the yellow envelope and the thick leather ledger.
“Everything you need to put him away is in there,” Luca said to the agent. “Including his offshore accounts and his contacts inside your own bureau.”
The agent nodded respectfully. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti. You’ve done the city a great service today.”
Lorenzo was dragged down the stairs in handcuffs, screaming obscenities in Italian, his carefully crafted persona shattered into pieces.
As Lorenzo was shoved into the back of a federal vehicle, Luca turned to me. The wind whipped his dark hair, but his face was perfectly calm.
“It’s over,” Luca breathed, wrapping his arms around me.
But as I hugged him, I noticed the lead FBI agent pull a small object from Lorenzo’s confiscated jacket.
May you like
He held it up.
It was my grandmother’s train ticket.
