Chapter 9 - The Bellini Trap
Before Luca could pull the trigger, Vincent struck the floor with the tip of his cane.
A sharp, mechanical click echoed beneath the floorboards.
The massive crystal chandelier directly above the center of the room shattered from its ceiling mount.
Three tons of brass and crystal plummeted downward.
“Down!” Daniel roared.
Daniel tackled me to the floor just as the chandelier crashed into the ballroom floor.
The sound was like an artillery shell detonating inside a cathedral.
Shards of crystal and sharp brass flying in every direction.
Dozens of Dons and bodyguards were thrown backward by the impact.
Smoke bombs erupted from the catering carts along the walls.
Thick, blinding gray smoke filled the ballroom within seconds.
“Kill them all!” Vincent’s voice screamed through the smoke.
Automatic weapons opened up from the balcony above.
Vincent’s private snipers had been stationed in the mezzanine all along.
This was never just a vote.
It was an ambush meant to wipe out the leadership of every rival family in the Midwest.
Don Falcone took a round to the shoulder and fell behind a overturned dining table.
“Treason!” Falcone bellowed.
“The Bellinis have broken the sacred truce!”
The ballroom turned into an absolute slaughterhouse.
Tables were flipped.
Champagne bottles exploded into clouds of glass and alcohol.
Gunfire was deafening, reverberating off the gilded plaster walls.
I crawled beneath a heavy mahogany banquet table, coughing on the chemical smoke.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Through the haze, I saw Luca moving.
He wasn't running.
He wasn't taking cover.
He moved through the smoke like a predator born of shadows.
His automatic shotgun fired in steady, devastating pulses.
Every shot dropped an enforcer from the balcony.
He advanced toward the stage through a storm of incoming lead.
Bullets chewed through the wood of the tables around him.
They ricocheted off the marble pillars.
He didn't stop.
A Bellini soldier stepped out of the smoke right in front of my hiding spot.
He raised a submachine gun, aiming directly at Luca’s exposed back.
“Luca!” I screamed.
The soldier turned his head toward my voice.
He looked down under the table.
He raised his barrel toward my face.
My hand moved on instinct.
I reached into my apron pocket.
I grabbed the compact .38 revolver Luca had given me at the hospital.
I didn't think.
I didn't hesitate.
Point and pull.
I pulled the heavy trigger with both index fingers.
The small gun kicked violently in my grip.
The deafening blast inside the confined space under the table rang in my ears.
The soldier stumbled backward, clutching his throat, his eyes wide with shock.
He collapsed onto the Persian rug.
My hands were shaking violently.
The smell of burnt gunpowder filled my nose.
I had never shot a gun in my life.
Luca appeared through the smoke above me.
He reached down with one massive hand and pulled me out from beneath the table.
He checked me over in a fraction of a second.
“Are you hit?”
“No,” I gasped, trembling from head to toe.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and steady.
He shoved a fresh magazine into his sidearm.
“Daniel! Get Falcone and the other Dons out through the kitchen freight exit!”
“What about you, boss?” Daniel yelled over the gunfire.
“I’m taking the stairs to the private penthouse.”
Luca pointed toward the emergency stairwell behind the stage.
“Vincent and Vanessa took the service elevator up.”
“Luca, it’s a trap,” I pleaded, grabbing his arm.
“He has his private security stationed in the penthouse suites!”
Luca looked down at me.
His face was streaked with blood and powder burns.
His eyes were completely cold.
“Then they can die with him.”
He turned toward the stairs.
I didn't let go of his sleeve.
“I’m coming with you.”
Luca stopped.
He looked down at my hand gripping his jacket.
“Emma, it’s suicide up there.”
“He has the original hospital records in his private safe,” I said.
“Without those original papers, the syndicate will hunt you forever as an outlaw.”
“I know how to crack Bellini’s safe combinations.”
Luca hesitated for a heartbeat.
He saw the determination in my eyes.
The same stubborn fire that kept me alive in his mansion.
He nodded once.
“Stay behind me.”
We kicked open the heavy fire door and began ascending the concrete stairs.
Forty floors above the street.
The sound of the massacre in the ballroom slowly faded beneath the rhythm of our pounding boots.
Every five floors, Luca had to pause for three seconds.
His hand pressed hard against his flank.
Fresh blood was seeping through the elastic bandages again.
His breath was coming in ragged gasps.
“Luca, let me check the dressing,” I urged on the thirty-second floor landing.
“No time,” he grunted, forcing himself up the next flight.
“Adrenaline is keeping the blood flowing.”
“When the adrenaline drops, you drop!”
“Then I’ll kill Vincent before it drops.”
We reached the fortieth floor.
The heavy steel fire door was unlocked.
Luca pushed it open an inch.
The penthouse suite was silent.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooked the stormy Chicago skyline.
Rain lashed against the glass.
Lightning split the clouds, illuminating the luxurious white modern interior.
At the far end of the room, near an open glass balcony door, stood Vanessa.
She had stripped off her emerald dress.
She was wearing a black trench coat.
She held a heavy leather briefcase in one hand.
In her other hand, she held a silver-plated automatic pistol.
Vincent was sitting in a leather armchair behind a massive glass desk.
His silver cane lay across his lap.
He wasn't running.
He was waiting.
Luca stepped out into the open room, his weapon lowered at his side.
“It's over, Vincent.”
Vincent didn't flinch.
He looked at Luca with a cold, mocking smile.
“Nothing is over, boy.”
Vincent tapped the arm of his chair.
“You forgot who taught you how to fight.”
A laser dot appeared directly on Luca’s forehead.
From the shadows behind the modern art pillars, three figures stepped forward.
They were wearing black tactical gear.
The Moretti family’s elite inner guard.
The men Luca had trained himself.
The men who were supposed to protect his life with their own.
Vanessa smiled, a cruel, vicious grin.
“Did you really think Daniel was the only one who had keys to the house, darling?”
Vanessa raised her weapon and pointed it directly at my face.
May you like
“Drop your gun, Luca.”
“Or I’ll paint this lovely white sofa with your little sister’s brains.”
