Chapter 6 - THE POISONER’S LEDGER
The impact lifted Alessandro off his feet.
He flew backward into the shattered glass of the dining room cabinet.
Porcelain crashed down over his head and shoulders.
He hit the hardwood floor with a sickening, hollow thud.
"ALESSANDRO!" I screamed.
The fury, the betrayal, the fourteen years of lies vanished beneath a sudden, blinding wave of terror.
I dove across the floor, sliding on the wet plaster and blood.
I landed on my knees beside his chest.
The bullet had struck him two inches below his left collarbone.
His black shirt was shredded, smoking from the heat of the round.
Underneath, the ceramic trauma plate of his concealed tactical vest had shattered, absorbing the kinetic shock, but the slug had driven broken Kevlar into his flesh.
Blood was welling fast, dark and thick, pooling around his neck.
He was coughing, gasping for air, his hands clutching my wrists.
"Sofia..." he wheezed, blood flecking his lips.
"The tunnel... go..."
"Shut up!" I cried, tearing the hem of my silk blouse with both hands.
I jammed the fabric into the gaping wound, pressing down with all my weight.
He arched his back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat.
"You don't get to die on me, Alessandro!"
"Not until you tell me the truth about my mother!"
From the burning foyer, heavy boots crunched on the shattered marble.
Marco Russo stepped through the smoke.
He carried a combat shotgun in his right hand.
His white linen suit was smudged with soot, his hair slicked back, a cigar burning between his teeth.
Behind him stood four mercenaries with assault rifles.
"Well, well," Marco drawled, stopping five feet from where we lay.
"The great Don Moretti, bleeding out on an imported rug."
Marco pointed the barrel of the shotgun directly between Alessandro’s eyes.
"Move away from him, Sofia."
"The land belongs to my family now."
"You sign the deed transfer, and I let you take a flight to Sicily."
I did not move away.
I stayed on my knees over Alessandro’s chest.
My left hand remained pressed against his bleeding wound.
My right hand stayed hidden beneath the folds of my torn skirt, my fingers locked around the grip of the Kimber .45.
"You lied about the arsenic, Marco," I said.
My voice was impossibly steady.
My heart had stopped racing.
It had turned into a block of black ice.
Marco chuckled, blowing a stream of gray smoke into the burning air.
"Did I?"
"Ask him, Sofia."
"Ask your husband who controlled the private clinics in Little Italy fourteen years ago."
"Don Carmine Moretti," Alessandro rasped from the floor, his fingers digging into my knee with desperate strength.
"My uncle... not me..."
"Carmine signed the order, yes," Marco sneered, stepping closer.
"To secure the port leases before the New York families moved in."
"And Alessandro knew."
"He found the ledger six months after you married him."
"And what did he do, Sofia?"
"He buried it."
"He kept you in this golden cage so you would never look inside the family archives."
I looked down at Alessandro.
A single tear tracked through the blood on his cheek.
"I wanted... to protect you..." Alessandro choked out.
"From the guilt... from the horror..."
"You protected your throne, Alessandro," I whispered.
The pain in my chest was so immense that I thought my own ribs would crack.
Marco raised the shotgun, resting the cold steel against Alessandro’s temple.
"Enough domestic drama."
"Sign the deed, Donna Moretti."
"Or I paint this wall with his brains."
I looked up at Marco Russo.
I took my left hand off Alessandro's chest.
I lifted both hands slowly into the air, as if surrendering.
Marco smiled, lowering his posture by a fraction of an inch.
"Smart girl."
My right hand cleared the fabric of my skirt in a blur of motion.
I didn't aim for his chest.
He was wearing body armor.
I aimed for his right eye.
BANG.
The .45 round blew through Marco’s eye socket, exiting the back of his skull in a spray of bone and brain matter.
The shotgun dropped from his limp fingers.
Marco collapsed onto the floor like a felled oak tree.
The four mercenaries behind him froze in stunned, disbelieving horror.
They had expected a terrified housewife.
They had not expected an executioner.
Before they could raise their rifles, the stone wall behind them exploded inward.
Enzo and six surviving Moretti operators breached from the service tunnel, their submachine guns barking in synchronized, devastating fury.
The four mercenaries dropped into the smoke within two seconds.
Silence slammed back down on the ruined room.
I sat back on my heels.
My hands were covered in Alessandro's blood and Marco's brains.
Enzo rushed to my side, dropping to one knee.
"Donna Moretti! The perimeter is secured!"
"State police are three minutes away!"
I looked down at Alessandro.
He was staring at me through the smoke, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror, awe, and shattered devotion.
"Sofia..." he whispered, his trembling hand reaching toward my knee.
I stood up.
I let his hand fall to the bloody floorboards.
I looked at Enzo.
"Call an ambulance for Don Moretti," I commanded.
My voice echoed through the burning mansion like an iron decree.
"And bring my car to the gate."
Enzo blinked, confused.
"Where are you going, Donna Moretti?"
I looked down at the dead body of Marco Russo.
Then at my husband bleeding on the floor.
May you like
"I am going to the West Side terminal," I said.
"To claim what my mother died for."
