Chapter 12 - Kidnapped Before the Dawn
The storm over Lake Michigan had turned into a full-scale gale by the time we reached the industrial harbor. Massive black waves slammed against the concrete piers, throwing white spray fifty feet into the freezing air.
Vincent Bellini’s hundred-foot yacht, The Venetian Queen, was idling at the far end of Pier 14, its twin diesel engines rumbling like thunder through the rain.
We moved through the maze of towering shipping containers, keeping low. Luca’s tactical team spread out to cut off the harbor exits.
Suddenly, from behind a stack of rusted steel crates, two engines roared.
A heavy flatbed truck smashed into our perimeter, separating me and Marco from Luca.
Gunfire erupted from the catwalks above.
“Claire, get down!” Marco yelled, returning fire as three Bellini mercenaries advanced with automatic weapons.
I dove behind a wooden shipping crate, but a pair of gloved hands grabbed me from behind. A cloth soaked in harsh chemicals was clamped over my mouth and nose.
I fought wildly, biting down on the attacker's hand and driving my heel into their shin.
“Hold still, you little bitch!” a familiar, hysterical voice shrieked in my ear.
Vanessa.
She had abandoned her high-society elegance completely. Her emerald dress was torn, her hair wild and soaked with rain, her eyes bloodshot with psychotic rage.
She held a small silver pistol against my temple while one of her father's wounded thugs dragged me backward up the gangplank of The Venetian Queen.
“Luca!” I screamed through the howling wind.
Across the dock, Luca saw me. His face contorted into an expression of unadulterated fury that transcended anything human. He abandoned all cover, charging through the open rain like a force of nature, cutting down two gunmen in his path with pinpoint accuracy.
“VANESSA!” Luca’s roar cut through the sound of the engines and the howling storm.
“Take one more step, Luca, and I blow her brains into the lake!” Vanessa screamed, backing toward the yacht’s helm with her gun pressed into my skin.
Luca skidded to a halt at the edge of the pier, his weapon raised, rain pouring down his face. His chest heaved, his eyes locked onto mine.
“Let her go, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating whisper. “Your fight is with me. Let Claire walk, and I will let you take the boat into international waters.”
“You think I’m stupid?!” Vanessa laughed hysterically, her finger tightening on the trigger. “She took everything from me! You looked at her like she was gold while you treated me like dirt! You humiliated my father! You destroyed our empire over a thirty-year-old rag!”
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Inside the yacht’s wheelhouse, Vincent Bellini appeared, bleeding heavily from a chest wound, gun in hand.
“Cast off the lines, Vanessa!” Vincent coughed blood onto the console. “Kill the girl and let’s go!”
