Chapter 7 - THE SUPPRESSED PISTOL IN THE CRYPT
The dull, muted thwip of the suppressed pistol echoed off the cold marble walls of the crypt.
I screamed, throwing myself instinctively over my father’s body, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for the burning impact of a bullet.
But the impact never came.
Instead, a heavy grunt of pain sounded inches above my head.
I opened my eyes.
Luca stood between us and his brother. He hadn't drawn his weapon. He hadn't had time. He had simply stepped into the line of fire.
Luca’s hand was clamped over his left shoulder, blood rapidly soaking through his expensive white shirt, blooming like a dark rose.
“Luca!” I shrieked, scrambling up from the floor, grabbing his arm to steady him as he staggered back slightly.
Vincent stood by the heavy iron doors, his eyes wide, the suppressed pistol trembling in his hand. He looked horrified, realizing he had just shot his own brother.
“Luca, I… I didn't mean to,” Vincent stammered, taking a step back. “You stepped in front of it!”
“You sold her, Vincent,” Luca ground out, his voice thick with a profound, earth-shattering betrayal. He ignored the bleeding wound in his shoulder, glaring at his older brother. “You sold our sister’s justice for money.”
Vincent’s face hardened, panic giving way to cold, desperate pragmatism. “She was dead, Luca! Avenging her wasn't going to bring her back! But Dominic’s casino money built this family’s empire! I made us strong!”
“You made us monsters,” Luca whispered.
He didn't reach for his gun. He reached into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out his cell phone.
He held it up. The screen was illuminated. It showed an active call.
“Marco,” Luca said into the phone, his voice steady despite the pain. “Did you hear him?”
There was a pause. Then, the heavy iron doors of the crypt slowly groaned open wider.
Marco stepped inside. He wasn't alone. Three of the senior Moretti capos—men who had served Luca’s father and remembered Elena—stepped in behind him. Their faces were carved from stone, their eyes fixed on Vincent with absolute, murderous disgust.
Vincent froze, the gun dropping slightly to his side. “Marco. You work for me now. I gave the orders!”
“You gave orders to protect the family, Vincent,” Marco said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “But you betrayed the family twenty-three years ago. You broke the blood code.”
Marco raised his assault rifle, aiming it directly at Vincent’s chest. The three capos behind him drew their weapons simultaneously.
“The Commission doesn't need to hear about this,” Marco said coldly. “We handle our own rats.”
Vincent looked at the guns pointed at him, then at Luca, finally realizing he had lost everything. The empire he had built on blackmail had crumbled in an instant.
“Luca, please,” Vincent begged, dropping the pistol to the floor. “I’m your brother. Blood is blood.”
“You forgot that twenty-three years ago,” Luca said, turning his back on Vincent.
“Take him to the warehouse at the docks,” Marco ordered his men. “We’ll finish this privately.”
The capos grabbed Vincent roughly by the arms, dragging him out of the crypt into the rain. His desperate pleas faded as the heavy iron doors closed behind them.
The immediate threat was gone, but the crypt was still freezing, and two men were bleeding heavily on the floor.
“Luca,” I cried, tearing the sleeve off my shirt to press against his shoulder wound. “We have to get you and my dad to a hospital!”
Luca winced as I applied pressure, but he reached out with his good hand and gently cupped my cheek.
“We can’t go to a hospital, Rachel,” Luca said softly, his breathing slightly shallow. “Gunshot wounds are reported to the police. Dominic Bellini owns the police. If we go to the ER, we’ll be dead before a doctor even sees us.”
“Then what do we do?” I panicked, looking at my father, who was slipping in and out of consciousness against the tomb. “He’s losing too much blood!”
“Marco has a private doctor on retainer,” Luca said, pulling his phone back out. “He’ll meet us at the safehouse.”
He dialed quickly, gave brief, clipped instructions, and hung up.
“Help me get him up,” Luca said, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself off the wall.
Together, we hauled my father to his feet. We practically carried him out of the crypt and into the backseat of one of the remaining armored SUVs that Marco had left running for us.
Luca climbed into the driver’s seat, ignoring the blood running down his arm, and tore out of the cemetery.
The drive was a blur of neon lights and rain. I sat in the back, holding my father’s head in my lap, praying quietly. My dad, the man I had thought abandoned me, had sacrificed his entire life to keep me safe. I wasn't going to lose him the day I finally got him back.
We pulled into the underground garage of a high-rise luxury building downtown.
A man with a black medical bag was waiting for us by the private elevator.
For the next three hours, I sat in the pristine, modern living room of the penthouse safehouse, staring at my blood-stained hands, listening to the muffled sounds of the doctor working in the next room.
Finally, the bedroom door opened.
The doctor walked out, wiping his hands with a towel.
“Your father is stabilized,” the doctor said, offering a tired smile. “The bullet went clean through the shoulder. He’s weak, and he needs rest, but he’ll live.”
I let out a sob of pure relief, covering my face with my hands.
“And Luca?” I asked, looking up.
“Mr. Moretti’s wound was superficial,” the doctor replied. “A graze. I’ve stitched him up. You can go in.”
I rushed past the doctor into the bedroom.
My father was asleep on the large king-sized bed, an IV line taped to his arm, looking incredibly pale but peaceful.
Sitting in a leather armchair in the corner of the room, shirtless with a heavy white bandage wrapped around his shoulder, was Luca.
He looked exhausted, the adrenaline finally leaving his system.
I walked over to him, dropping to my knees beside his chair.
“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his uninjured knee. “Thank you for saving him.”
Luca reached down, gently stroking my hair with his good hand.
“I didn't save him, Rachel,” Luca said softly. “He saved himself. He kept that secret for twenty-three years to protect you.”
I looked up at him. “What happens now, Luca? Vincent is gone. But Dominic Bellini is still out there. He knows we have the ticket.”
Luca’s expression hardened, the terrifying boss returning to his eyes.
“Dominic Bellini is a dead man,” Luca said quietly. “But we aren't going to start a war to kill him.”
“Then how?” I asked.
Luca reached into the pocket of his discarded suit pants on the floor. He pulled out the small, folded speeding ticket.
“Tomorrow night, the Commission of the Five Families is holding a summit at the Bellini casino,” Luca explained. “Dominic will be there, surrounded by the heads of every mafia family in the city.”
“You can’t just walk in there,” I said, horrified. “You’ll be slaughtered.”
“I’m not walking in,” Luca said, looking at me with a dangerous, brilliant intensity.
May you like
He held out the speeding ticket.
“You are.”
