Chapter 5 - The Woman in the Rain
The mansion shook as another explosion rocked the perimeter.
Vanessa Bellini brought the Russians.
The words echoed in my mind, terrifying and surreal. The polished, arrogant socialite who had humiliated me over a pair of reading glasses was now leading a heavily armed hit squad through the front gates.
"The Volkovs," Marco cursed violently, raising his weapon. "Arthur must have owed them more than money. She sold us out to pay his debt."
"She didn't sell us out for a debt," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm in the chaos. "She sold us out for revenge. She wants the empire, and she thinks the Russians will give it to her if she delivers my head."
Luca turned to me. His dark eyes locked onto mine with intense, protective urgency.
"Hannah. The panic room is behind the library fireplace. Go now. Lock it from the inside."
"I'm not leaving you," I blurted out, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them.
Luca grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm but gentle.
"I need you safe, Hannah," he commanded, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "If I fall tonight, you are the only one who knows the truth about my father. You have to survive."
He didn't wait for my answer. He shoved me toward the hallway and sprinted in the opposite direction, toward the grand staircase, racking the slide of his Glock.
"Defend the main floor!" Luca roared to his men as he disappeared down the stairs.
I stumbled into the hallway, the blaring sirens disorienting me. The smell of smoke and cordite was already drifting up from the foyer.
I ran toward the library, my heart pounding against my ribs.
As I pushed the heavy oak doors open, a shadow moved in the darkness near the bookshelves.
I froze, instinctively grabbing a heavy bronze bookend from the nearest table.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
A figure stepped into the dim light.
It wasn't a Russian mercenary.
It was Frank Moretti.
The frail, seventy-six-year-old man who had supposedly fled the estate was standing in the library, holding a sleek, silver revolver. He wasn't crying. He didn't look confused. He looked like the ruthless Don he had once been.
"Mr. Moretti?" I breathed, dropping the bookend in shock. "You didn't leave?"
Frank smiled. It was a cold, empty expression that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Why would I leave my own house, Claire?" Frank asked smoothly.
"It's Hannah," I corrected, stepping backward toward the door.
"Whatever," Frank dismissed. "The point is, the chaos outside is the perfect cover."
I stared at him, horror dawning on me.
"You knew Vanessa was coming," I realized, the pieces snapping together. "You wanted her to bring the Russians. It’s a distraction."
"A necessary one," Frank agreed, raising the revolver slightly. "Luca is too smart for his own good. He found the tape. He found the truth. I couldn't let him live with that knowledge. It would destroy my legacy."
"You killed your own wife!" I screamed, tears of rage springing to my eyes. "And you tried to kill your own son! You're a monster!"
Frank’s face hardened. "I built this empire with blood and sacrifice! Elena wanted to tear it down! Luca wants to legitimize it and turn us into weak businessmen! I won't allow the Moretti name to become a joke."
He aimed the gun directly at my chest.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Frank said, without a trace of remorse. "But you know too much. And I need a tragic casualty to explain to the Commission how poor Luca lost his mind and had to be put down by his own father."
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the gunshot.
BANG.
The deafening roar filled the library.
But I didn't feel any pain.
I opened my eyes.
Frank Moretti was staring at his own chest in absolute shock. A dark red stain was rapidly spreading across his expensive white shirt. The silver revolver slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, before falling face-first onto the rug.
I looked toward the library doorway.
Standing there, holding a smoking pistol, with tears streaming down his face, was Leo Moretti.
"Leo," I gasped, trembling violently.
Leo lowered the gun, his chest heaving. He stared at the body of his father, the man he had spent his entire life trying to please, the man he had just killed to save me.
"I heard everything," Leo whispered, his voice cracking. "He killed her. He really killed Mom."
I ran to him, throwing my arms around his waist. Leo collapsed against me, sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder, the grief of a broken son finally breaking the dam.
"I've got you," I cried, holding him tightly. "It's over, Leo. He can't hurt you anymore."
But the battle outside was far from over.
The sound of automatic gunfire downstairs intensified.
Leo pulled back, wiping his face, a sudden, fierce determination hardening his hazel eyes.
"Lock the door, Hannah," Leo ordered, handing me his pistol.
"What are you doing?" I panicked.
"I'm going to help my brother," Leo said.
Before I could stop him, Leo sprinted out of the library and down the hall toward the grand staircase.
I locked the heavy oak doors and ran to the window, peering out into the rain.
The courtyard was a warzone. Luca’s men were pinned down behind overturned SUVs, exchanging heavy fire with dozens of Russian mercenaries pouring through the destroyed gates.
And standing in the center of the chaos, shielded by two massive bodyguards, was Vanessa Bellini.
She looked manic, screaming orders, pointing toward the front doors of the mansion.
Suddenly, the front doors burst open.
Luca stepped out onto the portico. He was out of ammunition, his guns empty. He stood alone, facing down the small army.
"Hold your fire!" Vanessa shrieked to the Russians.
The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie, ringing silence in the rainy courtyard.
Vanessa walked slowly toward the steps, a triumphant, wicked smile on her face. She raised a handgun, aiming it directly at Luca’s chest.
"I told you I’d ruin you, Luca," Vanessa sneered.
Luca didn't flinch. He stood tall, the Don of Chicago, refusing to bow to the woman who had betrayed him.
"You haven't ruined anything, Vanessa," Luca said calmly. "You're just throwing a tantrum with borrowed guns."
Vanessa’s face twisted in rage. She cocked the hammer of the gun.
"Goodbye, Luca," she hissed.
"Vanessa, wait!" a voice roared from the balcony above.
Everyone looked up.
Leo stood on the balcony overlooking the portico. In his hand, he held the small black velvet box he had taken from his father's pocket.
The box containing the microcassette tape. The proof of the murder.
"You want the tape?" Leo shouted, holding the box out over the edge of the balcony. "You want the leverage against the Moretti family?"
Vanessa lowered her gun slightly, her eyes wide with greed. "Bring it down here, Leo! Give it to me, and I'll let you live!"
Leo looked down at his brother.
Luca nodded once.
Leo smiled.
He didn't walk down the stairs.
He opened the velvet box, took out the tiny cassette tape, and crushed it in his bare hand.
He threw the shattered plastic over the balcony. It rained down onto the cobblestones at Vanessa's feet.
"The leverage is gone, Vanessa," Leo announced. "My father is dead. The secret dies with him."
Vanessa stared at the broken plastic in absolute horror. Her entire plan, her only bargaining chip with the Commission, was destroyed.
The Russian commander standing behind her frowned, realizing they had been fighting for nothing.
Before Vanessa could raise her gun again, the deafening wail of police sirens flooded the night air. Dozens of flashing red and blue lights appeared on the road leading to the estate.
"The police!" one of the mercenaries shouted in Russian.
The commander looked at Vanessa in disgust. "We are leaving."
"No! Kill him!" Vanessa screamed, pointing at Luca.
But the Russians didn't listen. They turned and sprinted toward their armored vans, abandoning her in the driveway.
Vanessa stood alone in the rain, surrounded by approaching sirens. She looked at Luca, completely broken, raising her gun one last time.
But she didn't aim at Luca.
She turned the gun, aiming it upward, directly at Leo on the balcony.
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"If I lose everything," Vanessa shrieked, "you lose him!"
She pulled the trigger.
