Chapter 11 - THE COMMISSION'S WRATH
I slammed the heavy oak door shut and threw the deadbolt, my hands shaking so violently I could barely turn the lock.
I sprinted back into the dining room.
“Luca!” I gasped, my chest heaving.
Luca turned from the table, his smile vanishing the second he saw my face. “Hannah, what is it?”
“The Commission,” I choked out, pointing toward the foyer. “There’s an emissary at the front door. Arthur Bellini called them before he was arrested. He told them you have the stolen Blood Token.”
Michael struggled to sit up in his medical bed, his face draining of color. “No. No, that’s impossible. If they know it’s stolen, it’s void. It doesn’t buy our freedom anymore. It’s just a death sentence.”
Luca’s jaw clenched into a hard, unforgiving line. He looked at the wooden lockbox sitting on the table.
“What did the emissary say?” Luca demanded.
“He said you have one hour to hand the token over to him,” I whispered, looking down at Leo, who was staring at us with wide, frightened eyes. “If you don’t, or if you try to use it for immunity, they will execute everyone in the house. He… he said they’d start with Leo.”
Teresa let out a sharp cry and pulled Leo tightly against her chest.
Luca didn’t panic. He moved with the terrifying, calculating precision of a man who had spent his life surviving wars.
He walked to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly.
“He’s not alone,” Luca muttered. “There are three black SUVs parked outside the main gate. The guards are already dead or bought off. We’re surrounded.”
“Luca, we have to give it to him,” Michael pleaded, his voice weak. “If we give the token back, maybe they’ll just take the shipping ports and let us live.”
“The Commission doesn’t leave witnesses who know they were robbed, Michael,” Luca said coldly, letting the curtain fall. “If I hand that coin over, they’ll kill us anyway to send a message to the other families. Arthur knew exactly what he was doing. He cornered us.”
“Then what do we do?” I asked, stepping closer to him.
Luca looked at the wooden box. He reached out and picked up the heavy gold Blood Token.
“There is only one rule the High Commission respects more than stolen property,” Luca said, his eyes darkening. “And that’s the law of sanctuary.”
Teresa gasped. “Luca, no. You cannot go there. It’s suicide.”
“What is sanctuary?” I asked, confused.
“The Church of San Michele in Little Italy,” Michael explained, his voice trembling. “It’s neutral ground. Established eighty years ago. If a boss requests a sit-down inside those walls, no blood can be spilled. Not even by the Commission. But you have to get there alive first.”
Luca slipped the gold coin into his pocket and drew his handgun.
“Hannah, take my mother, Leo, and Michael down to the wine cellar. There’s a reinforced panic room behind the back wine rack. Lock yourselves inside.”
“I’m not leaving you up here alone!” I argued, grabbing his arm.
Luca turned to me. He reached up and gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek.
“You are the bravest woman I have ever known,” Luca whispered softly, his eyes filled with fierce affection. “But I cannot protect you and fight a dozen Commission hitmen at the same time. I need to know you and my son are safe. Please, Hannah.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I looked at the sincerity and desperation in his face, and I nodded.
“Come back to us,” I whispered.
“I promise,” he said.
I helped Teresa guide a terrified Leo toward the kitchen, while Luca assisted Michael, leaning heavily on a crutch, down the stone steps into the dark, expansive wine cellar.
We found the heavy steel door hidden behind the wine racks. We hurried inside the panic room. It was cold, lit by emergency lights, and lined with security monitors.
Luca stood in the doorway. He looked at his son.
“Be brave for Grandma, Leo,” Luca smiled tightly.
Leo nodded, clutching his wooden toy car to his chest.
Luca looked at me one last time, then slammed the heavy steel door shut. The deadbolt clicked into place with a sickening finality.
I ran to the security monitors on the wall, staring at the grainy black-and-white feeds of the mansion.
We watched in terrified silence as Luca walked to the front door, his gun at his side.
He didn’t open the door. He kicked it open.
The emissary on the porch didn’t even flinch. He just smiled.
“Time is up, Mr. Moretti,” the emissary said. “Do you have the token?”
“I have it,” Luca said, stepping out onto the porch. “And I’m requesting a formal sit-down with the High Council. Under the law of sanctuary. At San Michele.”
The emissary’s smile faded slightly. “You are not in a position to make requests.”
“It’s not a request,” Luca growled. “It’s the law. If you shoot me on my front porch when I hold the Blood Token and demand sanctuary, the other families will tear the Commission apart for breaking the old rules.”
The emissary stared at Luca. He knew Luca was right. The mafia was built on a fragile foundation of rules. Break them openly, and chaos would follow.
“Very well,” the emissary said smoothly. “Sanctuary is granted. You will ride with us to the church.”
“I’ll take my own car,” Luca countered.
“No,” the emissary said, stepping closer, his men raising their weapons behind him. “You ride with us. Or sanctuary is denied.”
Luca hesitated. He knew getting into their car was a death trap. But he had no choice. He slowly lowered his weapon and nodded.
I watched on the monitor as Luca was patted down, disarmed, and shoved into the back of a black SUV. The convoy sped away, disappearing through the front gates.
The estate was silent again.
“He’s going to fix this,” Teresa prayed, clutching her rosary. “He will fix this.”
But Michael, sitting on the floor of the panic room, looked devastated.
“He didn’t take his own car,” Michael whispered, staring at the blank security screen.
“Why does that matter?” I asked, a knot of dread forming in my stomach.
May you like
Michael looked up at me, tears in his eyes.
“Because the Church of San Michele was demolished last week to make way for a high-rise. They aren’t taking him to sanctuary, Hannah. They’re taking him to an execution.”
