Chapter 5 - THE THRESHOLD OF BETRAYAL
"Eyes shut!" Dante roared.
He threw his entire body over Isabella, slamming her down onto the hardwood behind the desk.
The world went white.
A thunderous explosion tore the air from Isabella's lungs.
The shockwave rattled the books from the shelves, burying them under falling leather volumes.
High-velocity gunfire chewed through the doorframe.
Plaster exploded into clouds of white dust.
Dante rolled off her, drawing two custom Kimber .45 pistols from his shoulder holsters.
He fired blind through the smoke.
Two heavy thuds followed by guttural groans signaled his accuracy.
"Marco!" Dante shouted.
"I have the stairs!" Marco yelled from the hallway.
His shotgun boomed three times in rapid succession, shaking the walls.
Dante hauled Isabella up by her forearm.
His face was streaked with soot and blood from a flying glass splinter.
"We go through the service elevator," Dante said, pushing her toward the corner paneling.
"No," Isabella said, pulling her arm back.
"What?"
"The service elevator shares a shaft with the breaker room," she said, her voice sharp and clear despite the ringing in her ears.
"If Carlo's men cut the main grid, they're already waiting at the junction box on the ground floor."
"We'd be walking into a meat grinder."
Dante looked at her, his tactical instincts overriding his stubborn pride.
She was right.
"The greenhouse terrace," Dante corrected himself instantly.
He grabbed a heavy iron fire poker from the hearth.
He smashed the locking mechanism of the French doors leading to the exterior stone balcony.
Cold wind and rain rushed in, clearing the choking tear gas.
Below them, three black SUVs were parked on the lawn.
Men in tactical gear were pouring out, carrying submachine guns.
Leading them across the lawn was Carlo Moretti.
He wore a dark raincoat, holding an umbrella over a man in a bespoke gray overcoat.
Isabella squinted through the downpour.
The second man was not a Moretti soldier.
He was Viktor Vance, the chief enforcer for the Detroit Petrov syndicate.
The Moretti family’s bloodiest rival for thirty years.
"Dante!" Carlo's voice echoed through a megaphone from the courtyard below.
"Don't make this messy, cousin!"
"The Commission has already ratified the change of leadership!"
"You compromised our security for an art restorer!"
"Give us the girl and the real necklace, and you can take a boat to Sicily!"
Dante leaned over the stone balustrade.
His eyes burned with murderous fury.
"I will put your head on a spike at the municipal pier, Carlo!" Dante bellowed into the wind.
Carlo laughed.
The sound was brittle, distorted by the speaker.
"You don't have the necklace, Dante!" Carlo yelled.
"And neither does she!"
Carlo raised his left hand.
Between his fingers, dangling from a platinum chain, was the true Star of Palermo.
The massive blue gem caught the floodlights, glowing with terrifying, icy brilliance.
"The old man gave it to me six months ago," Carlo sneered.
"He knew you were too soft to rule."
Beside Dante, Isabella froze.
Her eyes locked onto the gem in Carlo's hand.
"He's lying," Isabella whispered.
"What?" Dante asked, keeping his weapon trained on the courtyard.
"Look at the refraction in the beam of the floodlight," she murmured.
"The true Star of Palermo was cut in Antwerp in 1912."
"It has fifty-eight facets with an asymmetrical culet."
"The light escaping from Carlo's hand is refracting in parallel six-point stars."
Dante looked at her, his brow furrowed.
"What does that mean?"
"That means Carlo is holding another fake," Isabella said, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Someone stole the real sapphire before Carlo ever made his move."
Before Dante could speak, a sniper round punched through the stone balustrade between them.
The impact sent a spray of pulverized granite into Dante's cheek.
He stumbled backward onto the wet terrace tiles.
Marco burst through the smoke behind them, his face covered in blood.
"Boss! We're cut off from the driveway!"
"The garage is burning!"
Carlo's mercenaries began firing grappling hooks toward the terrace railing.
May you like
Steel cables snapped taut against the stone.
The first masked operative vaulted over the ledge, raising his submachine gun directly at Isabella's chest.
