Chapter 8 - THE FAMILY HEIRLOOM
The shipping yard fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
The halogen lights buzzed above us.
Lily squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She didn't make a sound, too terrified to even whimper.
Luca stood frozen. His rifle was leveled perfectly at Rossi’s head. He could make the shot.
But if he pulled the trigger, Rossi’s finger might spasm. The revolver was pressed too tightly against the little girl’s skull.
“I said drop it!” Rossi roared.
Luca didn't hesitate. He let the tactical rifle fall to the dirt.
He raised his hands slowly.
“Let her walk away, Sal. Take me.”
“Oh, I’m taking you,” Rossi smiled, gesturing to one of his men.
The thug walked over to a metal oil drum and picked up a heavy leather briefcase. He opened it and pulled out a stack of legal documents.
He walked over and shoved a pen into Luca’s chest.
“What is this?” Luca asked.
“The deed to your estate, the transfer of your ports, and the absolute surrender of the Moretti syndicate,” Rossi said smoothly. “Sign it all over to me. Make me the king of Chicago. And maybe I let the brat live.”
It wasn't just a hostile takeover. It was the complete annihilation of the Moretti family legacy.
Luca took the pen. He looked at Lily.
He didn't care about the money. He didn't care about the power.
He bent down, placing the documents on his knee, preparing to sign away everything his family had built for three generations.
I was hiding behind a rust-covered shipping container twenty feet away.
I looked around frantically.
Directly above Rossi, suspended by a massive, rusted industrial crane, was a ten-ton shipping container.
The control panel for the crane was bolted to a concrete pillar just three feet away from my hiding spot.
I didn't think about the danger. I didn't think about my knee.
I lunged out of the shadows.
I slammed my hand down on the massive red emergency release button on the control panel.
Klaxons blared instantly, a deafening, mechanical scream that shattered the silence of the yard.
The magnetic lock on the crane disengaged with a sound like a thunderclap.
The ten-ton shipping container plummeted from the sky.
It didn't hit Rossi, but it crashed into the dirt less than fifteen feet away from him. The impact shook the ground like a massive earthquake, throwing up a blinding cloud of dust and debris.
Rossi stumbled backward, his grip on Lily slipping in shock.
That was all the distraction Michael needed.
For the last ten minutes, Michael had been quietly sawing his zip-tied wrists against the sharp metal edge of his chair.
The plastic snapped.
Michael leaped from the chair, bleeding and bruised, and tackled the armed guard closest to him, wrenching the shotgun from the man’s hands.
Luca reacted instantly. He dove forward into the dust cloud, sweeping Lily into his arms and rolling behind a stack of wooden pallets.
Gunfire erupted.
Michael fired the shotgun, dropping two of Rossi’s men.
I pressed myself flat against the concrete pillar, covering my ears as bullets sparked against the metal containers around me.
The dust began to settle.
Michael was crouched behind a drum, reloading. Luca was holding Lily tight against his chest, shielding her completely.
But Rossi was still standing.
He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, his face twisted in absolute fury. He raised his heavy silver revolver, aiming it directly at Luca’s exposed back as Luca huddled over the child.
“Say goodbye, Moretti,” Rossi snarled.
He cocked the hammer.
A single gunshot rang out.
It didn't come from Rossi’s gun.
Rossi gasped. His eyes widened in shock. The revolver slipped from his fingers, clattering into the dirt.
He fell to his knees, clutching a spreading red stain on his chest, and collapsed face-first into the mud.
The yard went completely still.
Luca slowly turned around.
Standing in the doorway of the open shipping container, bathed in the harsh halogen light, was a woman.
She was wearing a torn silk blouse, her face bruised. In her trembling hands, she held a small, black handgun she had clearly just fired.
It was Rebecca.
She stared at the dead body of the man who had tormented her.
May you like
Then she looked at Luca.
“Nobody,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “touches my brother.”
