Chapter 8 - The Breaking News On The Screen
Luca didn't move immediately. He kept his arm securely around me and Noah, his jaw tightening.
“What is it, Marco?”
“It’s channel five, Boss. You just need to see it.”
Luca reached for the remote on the nightstand and clicked on the large flat-screen television mounted across the room.
The screen flickered to life.
A local news anchor was standing in front of the downtown courthouse. The chyron scrolling at the bottom of the screen read in bold, red letters: MAFIA PRINCESS EXPOSES SYNDICATE SECRETS.
My stomach plummeted.
On the screen, Vanessa Bellini was being escorted in handcuffs by federal agents. Her red silk dress was torn, her makeup ruined, but she looked directly into the camera with a manic, triumphant smile.
“I didn't do it alone!” Vanessa screamed at the press microphones being shoved in her face. “Luca Moretti is running the entire Commission! He’s using an illegal adoption to launder syndicate money through a shell orphanage!”
“Turn it off,” Luca snapped.
Marco muted the television, but the images kept rolling.
“Don Carmine handed her over to the Feds instead of handling it internally,” Marco explained grimly. “He thought it would make her look crazy. But she’s talking, Boss. She’s giving them everything. Names, dates, bank accounts.”
I looked at Luca. “What does this mean?”
Luca’s face was unreadable. “It means the FBI is going to tear my life apart looking for a thread to pull.”
“She mentioned the orphanage,” I whispered, panic rising in my chest. “Luca, my name is on those adoption papers. If they look into my background, they’ll see my brother’s manslaughter charge. They’ll twist it. They’ll say I was planted there to facilitate a cover-up.”
Luca turned to me, his eyes fierce.
“They won’t touch you. Or Noah. I will burn this city to the ground before I let a federal agent step foot in this house.”
Noah whimpered, burying his face in my good shoulder. “Are the police coming to take me away?”
“No, buddy,” Luca promised, stroking Noah’s hair. “Nobody is taking you.”
He stood up, his commanding presence filling the room.
“Marco. Call the lawyers. Have them stall any warrants. I want a jet prepped at the private airfield in two hours.”
“A jet?” I asked, startled. “Where are we going?”
“We aren't going anywhere,” Luca said, turning back to me. “You and Noah are going to my villa in Tuscany. It’s a fortress. The Italian authorities won’t touch you there. You’ll be safe while I handle the fallout here.”
“No!” I grabbed his hand. “I’m not leaving you here alone. We are a family now, Luca. We fight this together.”
Luca knelt beside the bed, his expression softening.
“Rachel, if the FBI raids this house, it won’t be polite. They will come with tactical teams. They will tear the walls down. I will not have my son—or my future wife—subjected to that terror. You need to go.”
I looked into his eyes and saw the absolute finality in his decision. He was protecting us the only way he knew how.
“How long?” I whispered.
“A few weeks. A month at most. I’ll clear the family name, crush the Bellinis legally, and come bring you home.”
I nodded slowly, tears stinging my eyes.
Two hours later, I was dressed in a comfortable sweater, my arm in a sling. Marco escorted Noah and me out to a waiting black SUV in the underground garage.
The mansion was completely locked down. Heavily armed guards patrolled every entrance.
Luca stood by the open door of the SUV.
He picked Noah up and hugged him tightly.
“You protect Rachel for me, okay, buddy?” Luca said, his voice thick.
“I will, Daddy,” Noah promised bravely.
Luca set him in the backseat, then turned to me.
He didn't say goodbye. He just kissed me hard, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I will come for you,” Luca promised.
“I know.”
Marco drove us out of the garage and into the cold Chicago night.
The drive to the airfield was tense. I kept looking out the tinted windows, expecting flashing red and blue lights to appear in the rearview mirror. But the streets were quiet.
When we arrived at the private tarmac, a sleek Gulfstream jet was waiting, its engines already humming.
Marco helped us out of the SUV and walked us to the stairs of the plane.
“The pilots have their orders, ma'am,” Marco said respectfully. “They’ll take you straight to Italy. A security team will meet you there.”
“Thank you, Marco,” I said.
I took Noah’s hand and we climbed the stairs into the luxurious cabin.
The flight attendant, a kind-looking woman in a navy uniform, smiled at us.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Moretti. Can I get you or your son anything before takeoff?”
Hearing myself called Mrs. Moretti made my heart flutter despite the fear.
“Just some water, thank you,” I said.
We settled into the plush leather seats. Noah buckled his seatbelt, looking out the small window at the dark tarmac.
“I miss him already,” Noah whispered.
“I do too, sweetie,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “But we’ll see him soon.”
The cabin doors closed. The engines roared to life, and the plane began to taxi down the runway.
I leaned back, closing my eyes, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up with me.
We were safe. We were getting away.
But as the plane lifted off the ground, the flight attendant returned with our water.
She placed the glasses on the small table between us.
Then, she leaned down, her kind smile vanishing completely.
“Vanessa Bellini sends her regards,” she whispered.
I froze.
I looked up at her name tag. It didn't say a name.
It was a small, gold pin.
May you like
Shaped exactly like the Bellini family crest.
Before I could scream, the woman pulled a small syringe from her pocket and jammed it into the side of my neck.
