Chapter 3 - The Traitor in the Shadows
The entire dining room inhaled a collective, horrified breath.
Ask Victor.
Luca didn't turn his head, but his dark eyes shifted slightly to the left, where his towering head of security, Victor, stood near the grand double doors.
Victor had worked for the Moretti family for fifteen years. He was the man who had taught Michael how to shoot. He was the man who had driven Luca’s mother to church every Sunday before she died.
I clutched Michael’s gold wedding ring through the fabric of my uniform, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Victor,” Luca said, his voice echoing in the dead-silent room. “Is she lying?”
Victor didn't answer immediately. The massive, scarred man stood perfectly still, his hands resting casually over the buckle of his tactical belt.
Then, slowly, a heavy, defeated sigh escaped Victor’s lips.
“She’s a stupid, spoiled child, Boss,” Victor grunted, his deep voice devoid of apology. “She was supposed to keep her mouth shut until the wedding was finalized.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. He didn't lower his gun from Vanessa’s chest, but his entire body went rigid with the absolute, agonizing betrayal of his closest friend.
“You ran my brother off the road?” Luca asked, the words slicing through the air like a blade.
“He was going to ruin the merger, Luca,” Victor said calmly, taking a slow step away from the doors. “Michael found out Vanessa’s father was embezzling from the syndicate’s pension fund. He had the proof in his car. If he showed it to you, you would have cancelled the wedding. The Bellini family would have collapsed, and the power vacuum would have invited a war with the New York families.”
“So you murdered my brother to protect an embezzler?” Luca roared, the fury finally breaking his stoic facade.
“I did it to protect the empire!” Victor yelled back, drawing his own weapon with terrifying speed.
Guests screamed, diving under the heavy mahogany table. Crystal glasses shattered as people scrambled for the exits, but Victor’s men—four heavily armed guards who had been stationed around the room—suddenly raised their assault rifles, aiming them not at the crowd, but at Luca.
I froze, paralyzed by fear, standing completely exposed in the center of the room with my pregnant belly.
Luca didn't flinch at the guns pointed at him. He kept his pistol leveled at Vanessa, but his eyes were locked on his traitorous security chief.
“You don't care about the empire, Victor,” Luca stated coldly. “Arthur Bellini paid you off.”
Victor chuckled, a dry, grating sound.
“Arthur Bellini doesn't have the kind of money it takes to buy me, Luca,” Victor sneered. “Arthur is just a middleman. A puppet.”
Victor tilted his head, a sinister gleam in his eye.
“Vanessa’s father doesn't run the smuggling routes through the ports,” Victor revealed. “He sold those routes three years ago to pay off a gambling debt. The people who actually control the ports needed this wedding to happen so they could merge their assets with the Moretti syndicate legally.”
My blood ran cold.
Michael had told me about the ports. He said there was something evil happening down by the water, something he couldn't ignore anymore.
“Who bought the ports, Victor?” Luca demanded, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“The Reyes Cartel,” Victor smiled.
Luca’s face drained of all color. The Reyes Cartel was the most brutal, ruthless organization in the hemisphere. The Moretti family had spent two decades keeping them out of Chicago.
“And they are already inside the mansion,” Victor announced, his smile widening into something truly terrifying.
Before Luca could react, the massive crystal chandeliers above us flickered violently.
With a loud, electrical crack, the lights went out.
The dining room plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
Screams erupted from the terrified guests. The chaotic sound of chairs flipping and high heels slipping on spilled wine filled the air.
“Luca!” I cried out, terrified in the dark.
I felt a massive, strong hand grab my arm, yanking me forcefully to the floor just as the deafening roar of automatic gunfire tore through the room.
Bullets shattered the antique mirrors on the walls and shredded the upholstery of the chairs above us.
“Stay down, Anna!” Luca yelled over the gunfire, pulling my body tight against his chest, shielding my pregnant belly with his own torso.
“They’re going to kill us!” I sobbed, burying my face in his suit jacket, inhaling the scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne.
“I will not let you die here,” Luca swore fiercely into my ear. “You are carrying my brother’s child. You are my blood now.”
He fired three blind shots into the darkness toward the doorway, providing a momentary covering fire.
“Move!” Luca ordered, dragging me by the wrist toward the back of the dining room.
I stumbled over broken plates and abandoned purses, my swollen feet aching, but the pure adrenaline kept me moving.
Luca shoved a heavy velvet curtain aside and kicked open a concealed wooden door that blended perfectly into the wainscoting.
“Inside,” he commanded, pushing me into a narrow, unlit corridor.
He slipped in behind me and slammed the door shut, locking it with a heavy deadbolt. The sounds of the massacre in the dining room became muffled, distant echoes.
We were standing in the secret servant passageways built during Prohibition, designed to move liquor unseen through the mansion.
Luca pulled a small silver flashlight from his pocket, clicking it on. The narrow beam illuminated the dusty, brick-lined tunnel.
“Are you hurt?” Luca asked, his chest heaving, his dark eyes scanning me frantically for any sign of blood.
“No,” I gasped, clutching my stomach. “The baby is okay.”
Luca let out a heavy, shuddering breath, resting his forehead against the brick wall for a fraction of a second. The invincible mafia Don looked completely shattered by the loss of his brother and the betrayal of his closest friend.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I should have told you about Michael. If I had given you the ring sooner—”
“Do not apologize,” Luca interrupted, turning back to me with a fierce, burning intensity. “Michael told you to hide because he knew there was a rat in my house. He died protecting you. And now, I am going to finish his job.”
He grabbed my hand, his grip warm and solid.
“We have to reach the safe room beneath the wine cellar,” Luca instructed, leading me down the dark corridor. “It’s reinforced steel. We can lock ourselves in and wait for the cartel to clear out.”
We hurried down the narrow passage, descending a spiral metal staircase that groaned under our weight. The air grew colder, smelling of damp earth and aged oak barrels.
My hips ached with every step, the physical toll of a six-month pregnancy making it agonizing to move so quickly, but I didn't complain. I couldn't.
We reached the wine cellar. Hundreds of expensive vintage bottles lined the walls in the dim beam of the flashlight.
Luca moved to the back wall, pressing a hidden sequence of bricks. A heavy steel door hissed open, revealing a pristine, stark white safe room equipped with monitors, weapons, and medical supplies.
“Get in,” Luca said, stepping aside.
I rushed into the room, collapsing into a leather chair, gasping for air.
Luca followed me inside, moving to shut the heavy steel door.
But as he grabbed the handle, his flashlight swept across a small, metal lockbox sitting on the desk in the center of the room.
The box had been forced open with a crowbar.
Luca froze.
“What is it?” I panicked, seeing the terror dawn on his face.
Luca slowly walked over to the desk. He looked inside the broken box, then picked up a delicate, silver necklace resting at the bottom.
It was a beautiful, vintage piece with a sapphire pendant.
“This is my mother’s necklace,” Luca whispered, his voice trembling. “I gave this to Victor ten years ago to lock in his personal vault for safekeeping after she died.”
He looked around the pristine safe room, realizing the horrifying truth.
“Victor didn't just betray me tonight, Anna,” Luca breathed. “He’s been planning this for years. He pre-staged this room.”
Before Luca could move back toward the entrance, the heavy steel door suddenly slammed shut on its own with a deafening metallic clang.
The electronic deadbolts slid into place with a sickening click-click-click.
We were locked inside.
I jumped out of the chair, rushing to the door, pounding my fists against the cold steel.
“Luca, open it!” I cried.
Luca typed frantically on the keypad next to the door, but the screen flashed a bright, mocking red ERROR message.
“He altered the master code,” Luca snarled, punching the steel wall in frustration.
Suddenly, a hissing sound echoed from the air vents above us.
I looked up. A thick, acrid smell began pouring into the small room.
It wasn't poison gas.
It was the sharp, unmistakable scent of gasoline.
And taped to the inside of the glass window on the steel door was a piece of paper with a handwritten note.
May you like
Luca stepped closer, shining his flashlight on it.
“The cartel doesn't want you dead, Luca,” the note read. “They just want the girl.”
