Chapter 3 - THE AMBUSH ON THE TARMAC
The suppressed pistol pointed at my chest didn't shake. Vanessa held it with a casual, terrifying familiarity.
"You're going to kill him," I breathed, the realization freezing the blood in my veins.
"I'm going to inherit him," Vanessa corrected with a chilling smile. "My father and I have been planning this merger for two years. Luca was supposed to die in a tragic accident after the wedding, once the assets were legally combined. But you had to be a hero, Julia. You forced my hand early."
She took a slow step forward.
"Teresa was just the first phase. She was a liability. The old woman asked too many questions about the accounting discrepancies. She had to be removed."
"You drugged her," I whispered.
"It was just a mild sedative," Vanessa scoffed. "She'll wake up strapped to a bed in a padded room, and by the time she manages to speak to a doctor, her beloved nephew will be dead, and I will have legal power of attorney to keep her there permanently."
I gripped the handle of the stairwell door behind me. I couldn't outrun a bullet, but I couldn't just stand here and let her execute me, either.
"If half the security detail works for your father," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep her talking, "why did you need to come looking for my phone?"
Vanessa’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"I like to be thorough," she said coldly.
"You didn't know," I realized, the truth hitting me. "You didn't know Daniel was loyal to Luca. You thought Daniel was one of yours, but he's not, is he?"
Vanessa's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Shut up."
"You're terrified," I pushed, adrenaline fueling my recklessness. "Because Luca is leaving the estate with Daniel, and you don't control the men he took with him."
"I control enough of them!" Vanessa shrieked, losing her composure.
She raised the pistol higher, aiming directly at my head.
"Goodbye, Julia."
I didn't close my eyes. I threw myself violently to the left, diving for the heavy wooden banister just as a soft phut echoed in the hallway.
The bullet shattered the plaster wall exactly where my head had been.
I scrambled desperately down the dark service stairs, ignoring the agonizing spike of pain shooting through my injured shoulder as I slammed against the wall.
"Get back here!" Vanessa screamed from the top landing.
I didn't look back. I practically fell down the first flight, my feet slipping on the narrow wooden treads. I could hear Vanessa’s silk robe rustling as she hurried down after me, completely unconcerned about the noise.
She owned the silence in this house.
I reached the bottom landing that opened into the kitchen. I threw the door open and sprinted across the cold tile floor. I needed to get to the garage. I needed to warn Luca.
I burst through the kitchen doors and sprinted down the long, marbled corridor leading to the subterranean garage access.
I hit the heavy steel door, pushed it open, and practically tumbled onto the concrete floor of the garage.
The garage was empty.
The four black SUVs were gone.
"No," I choked out, scrambling to my feet, spinning around wildly.
They had already left for the airport.
"Looking for a ride?" a cruel voice echoed from the doorway.
Vanessa stepped into the garage, breathing heavily, the suppressed pistol still gripped tightly in her hand. She looked manic, her hair wild, her eyes burning with a desperate fury.
"He's gone," Vanessa smiled, a vicious, triumphant expression. "My men are already waiting for his convoy on the access road to the airfield. The moment his SUV hits the tarmac, they'll blow it to pieces."
"You're a monster," I gasped, backing away from her, my shoulder throbbing intensely.
"I'm a survivor," Vanessa corrected. "And you're a loose end."
She raised the gun again.
I was cornered against a concrete pillar, nowhere left to run. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
BANG.
The gunshot was deafening. It wasn't suppressed.
But I didn't feel any pain.
I opened my eyes.
Vanessa was standing perfectly still, staring down at her own chest in absolute shock. A dark red stain was rapidly blooming across the white silk of her robe.
The suppressed pistol slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the concrete. She swayed on her feet, her mouth opening in a silent scream, before collapsing backward.
She hit the floor and didn't move.
I stared at her body, completely paralyzed.
"Are you hit?" a harsh, gruff voice demanded.
I whipped around.
Standing near the secondary exit, smoke still curling from the barrel of a heavy revolver, was Mrs. Carter.
The head housekeeper.
She was wearing her sensible nightgown, her hair in curlers, but her expression was as cold and hard as a mob enforcer’s.
"Mrs. Carter?" I breathed, utterly bewildered.
The older woman didn't answer immediately. She walked briskly across the garage, kicking Vanessa’s dropped weapon far out of reach, before checking the pulse at the socialite’s neck.
"Dead," Mrs. Carter muttered, seemingly unbothered.
She turned to me.
"I asked if you were hit, Julia."
"No," I stammered. "No, I'm fine. But... how? Why do you have a gun?"
Mrs. Carter sighed, adjusting her nightgown.
"I've worked for the Moretti family for thirty-five years, girl. You think you survive three decades in a mafia household by baking cookies?"
She grabbed my good arm, hauling me toward a sleek, low-profile black sedan parked in the far corner of the garage that I hadn't noticed.
"We don't have time for a history lesson," Mrs. Carter snapped. "Luca’s convoy is driving into an ambush at the airfield. We have to beat them there."
"We?" I panicked. "Mrs. Carter, they have explosives! They’ll kill us!"
"They'll have to see us first," she grunted, tossing me a set of keys. "You're driving. My night vision isn't what it used to be."
I didn't argue. The shock had bypassed fear and landed squarely on adrenaline. I jumped into the driver's seat, my injured shoulder screaming in protest as I gripped the steering wheel. Mrs. Carter slid into the passenger side, casually reloading her massive revolver.
I slammed the sedan into gear and tore out of the garage, the tires squealing on the concrete.
"Take the service roads," Mrs. Carter instructed, pointing out the windshield. "Vanessa’s men will be watching the main highway. We need to cut across the industrial park."
I drove like a madwoman. I ignored speed limits, blew through red lights, and took corners so hard the tires smoked. My entire focus was on the airstrip located ten miles outside the city limits.
We had to save Luca. If Luca died, Teresa would be locked away forever, and Vanessa's father would take over the city.
"There!" Mrs. Carter yelled, pointing to a dark expanse of tarmac illuminated by sparse halogen lights.
We were approaching the back side of the private airfield. The chain-link fence had been cut open.
I killed the headlights, rolling the sedan silently onto the dark edge of the runway.
A hundred yards ahead, bathed in the harsh glow of floodlights, was Luca's private jet.
And parked fifty yards away, completely blocking the taxiway, were three massive, unmarked black vans.
Dozens of heavily armed men in tactical gear were swarming out of the vans, taking positions behind the wheels and concrete barriers. They were setting up a lethal kill box.
"They're waiting for his convoy," I whispered, terrified by the sheer firepower they had assembled. "They have rocket launchers, Mrs. Carter."
The older woman scowled, gripping her revolver.
"We need a distraction," Mrs. Carter muttered.
Before I could suggest anything, a pair of headlights appeared at the far end of the runway access road.
It was Luca's convoy. Three black SUVs, driving steadily toward the trap.
"They don't see them!" I panicked. "The vans are hidden in the shadows!"
"Drive the car onto the runway," Mrs. Carter ordered abruptly.
"What?!"
"Drive the damn car onto the runway, Julia! Put it right between Luca’s convoy and the ambush!"
"They'll shoot us to pieces!"
"Not if we aren't in it," she smiled grimly.
She reached over and grabbed a heavy brick from the floorboard—a makeshift wheel chock I hadn't noticed.
"Get ready to jump," Mrs. Carter commanded.
I aligned the sedan directly with the center of the kill box. I shifted into drive, aiming straight for the gap between the heavily armed vans.
"Now!" Mrs. Carter yelled.
She slammed the brick down onto the gas pedal.
I threw my door open and dove out onto the wet grass bordering the tarmac. Mrs. Carter rolled out the passenger side a split second later.
The heavy sedan surged forward, accelerating wildly across the open tarmac, its engine roaring into the quiet night.
The mercenaries in the kill box panicked. They saw a vehicle charging them from the shadows, assuming it was a flanking maneuver by Luca's men.
They opened fire.
The night erupted into a deafening, terrifying symphony of automatic gunfire. The sedan was instantly shredded, glass and metal exploding as hundreds of rounds tore through it.
But the distraction worked perfectly.
The sudden, violent gunfire alerted Luca's convoy at the far end of the runway.
The three SUVs immediately slammed on their brakes, the tires screeching loudly as they spun violently, forming a defensive barricade facing the ambush.
Luca hadn't driven into the trap blind. He was ready to fight.
"Get down!" Mrs. Carter yelled, yanking me flat against the wet grass as bullets whizzed dangerously close above our heads.
The airfield turned into an absolute warzone.
Luca's men, highly trained and fiercely loyal, returned fire with devastating precision. They didn't have rocket launchers, but they had superior tactics.
I watched in terrified awe as Luca himself stepped out from behind the lead SUV. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. He held a heavy assault rifle, firing short, controlled bursts, dropping two mercenaries who tried to advance.
But they were outgunned. The mercenaries had heavy suppressing fire, pinning Luca and his men down.
"They're going to get overwhelmed," I whispered, tears of frustration stinging my eyes.
"Not today," a deep, booming voice echoed from the darkness directly behind us.
I whipped around.
Standing in the shadows of the cut fence, holding a massive sniper rifle, was Daniel. Luca's head of security.
And fanning out behind him, moving like ghosts in the dark, were twenty heavily armed Moretti enforcers.
"Sorry we're late to the party, ladies," Daniel grinned fiercely. "We had a slight rat problem at the estate to clean up first."
May you like
Daniel raised the sniper rifle, resting it on the hood of our abandoned sedan.
"Light 'em up," Daniel commanded softly.
