Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Courtyard
By 3:30 AM, the rain had stopped, replaced by a dense, freezing fog that choked the Chicago streets.
Dr. Rossi had stabilized Lucia, moving her to a secure private clinic owned by an independent physician who owed Luca his life.
Now, Luca stood in the courtyard of the Moretti estate.
He had showered and changed into a clean, tailored black suit.
No tie.
His collar was open.
Across his knuckles were dark bruises from the night’s violence.
I stood near the stone fountain, holding a cup of hot black coffee.
My uniform was ruined, so I wore a dark woolen sweater and jeans that Isabella had left in the guest quarters.
Luca walked over to me.
The heavy fog swirled around his long coat.
He took the coffee from my hands, took a slow sip, and looked down at me.
“You should go home, Emma,” he said softly.
“My apartment has twenty bullet holes in the walls, Mr. Moretti,” I said with a faint smile.
“There is nowhere for me to go.”
A rare, genuine smile touched the corner of his lips.
“I will buy you a new building tomorrow.”
“I don't want a building,” I replied, looking into his gray eyes.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see how this ends.”
Luca set the coffee cup on the stone ledge of the fountain.
He stepped closer.
His hand reached out, his thumb gently brushing across my cheekbone where a faint scrape remained from the mausoleum explosion.
His touch was surprisingly warm.
Gentle.
Nothing like the ruthless mafia boss the world feared.
“It will end in blood, Emma,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said softly.
“And you’re not afraid?”
“I was afraid when Vanessa told me to throw that camera away,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Now I just want the truth to win.”
Luca’s hand lingered on my cheek for a second longer before he slowly lowered it.
“You are braver than any soldier I employ.”
Before I could answer, Daniel stepped into the courtyard from the side garage.
“Boss. The captains have arrived at the Grand Ballroom.”
Luca’s expression instantly shifted back into stone.
“How many?”
“All twelve,” Daniel reported.
“Carlo is already inside. He has thirty Bellini guards stationed along the mezzanine.”
“And Isabella?” Luca asked, his jaw clenching.
“She’s sitting beside him at the high table.”
Luca pulled a pair of black leather driving gloves from his pocket and pulled them on.
“Let's go.”
We took three black sedans this time, moving in a silent convoy toward the Chicago Loop.
The Grand Ballroom was a historic 1920s venue built beneath the streets of downtown Chicago.
It had served as the neutral meeting ground for the Midwest syndicates for over eighty years.
No weapons were permitted past the bronze foyer doors.
That was the ancient rule.
A rule nobody believed would hold tonight.
As we walked through the brass revolving doors of the venue, four security guards stepped forward to pat us down.
Luca pushed past them without stopping.
“Touch me, and you lose the hand,” Luca said coldly.
The guards looked at his eyes, saw the lethal certainty behind them, and stepped backward immediately.
Luca pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors of the ballroom.
The room was massive.
Gilded ceilings rose thirty feet overhead.
Massive crystal chandeliers illuminated a horseshoe-shaped oak table where twelve older men in expensive suits sat in silence.
At the center of the high table sat Carlo Bellini.
Beside him sat Isabella.
And standing along the upper balcony were twenty armed men with submachine guns resting against their chests.
When Luca entered, every conversation stopped.
The twelve captains turned their heads.
Murmurs of shock rippled through the room.
Carlo Bellini’s smile vanished.
His glass of scotch hovered inches from his lips.
“Luca...” Carlo said, slowly setting the glass down.
“You’re alive.”
Luca walked down the center aisle between the red velvet chairs.
His footsteps were the only sound in the cavernous room.
I walked three paces behind him, flanked by Daniel and Matteo.
Luca stopped at the edge of the horseshoe table, directly opposite Carlo Bellini.
“You look disappointed, Carlo,” Luca said smoothly.
“Not disappointed,” Carlo replied, regaining his composure.
“Just surprised that a dead man would show up to his own succession hearing.”
Luca placed both hands on the edge of the oak table, leaning forward.
“I am not here for succession, Carlo.”
May you like
He raised his voice so that every captain in the room could hear every syllable.
“I am here to announce an execution.”
