Chapter 11 - The Fall of the House of Bellini
Luca rose from the floor, his presence filling the shattered library with an aura of absolute death.
He didn't draw a gun. He drew a custom eight-inch combat blade forged from dark Damascus steel from the tactical sheath at his hip.
He stepped through the shattered French doors onto the snow-covered balcony where Dmitri Volkov was frantically dragging himself toward the stone balustrade, leaving a dark, steaming trail of blood across the white powder.
"Moretti..." Volkov coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the snow. "The Bratva... the Bratva will hunt you to the ends of the earth for this..."
Luca stepped onto the balcony, the cold winter wind whipping his dark hair across his forehead.
"The Bratva," Luca said, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that carried over the howling wind, "does not know you are here. Because three hours ago, your supreme council in Moscow traded your location to me in exchange for exclusive shipping rights through the Montreal corridor."
Volkov’s eyes widened in absolute, horrifying realization. "They... they sold me out?"
"You became a liability the moment you touched a woman under the protection of the Moretti name," Luca said coldly.
Luca closed the distance in a single step.
Before Volkov could scream, Luca’s blade moved with blinding, clinical precision.
The Russian fell limp against the stone balustrade, his blood staining the pristine white snow of Lake Forest in a wide, spreading crimson pool.
Luca wiped the blade clean on Volkov’s tactical coat, sheathed it at his waist, and turned back toward the library.
Matteo and four heavily armed enforcers rushed through the broken library doors, surveying the scene with disciplined, calm efficiency.
"The terminal in Cicero is fully secured, boss," Matteo reported, keeping his eyes forward. "Volkov’s entire strike force was eliminated. We captured sixty million in illegal munitions and encrypted ledgers containing every corrupt politician on the Bellini payroll."
"And the Bellinis in the basement?" Luca asked, walking back over to where I was slowly sitting up against the base of the sofa.
"Awaiting your final judgment, sir."
Luca reached down, took my hand, and gently helped me up from the floor. He kept his arm wrapped securely around my waist, supporting my weight completely.
"Bring them to the courtyard," Luca commanded. "It is time to end the Bellini bloodline once and for all."
Ten minutes later, beneath the harsh floodlights of the rear courtyard, Don Antonio Bellini and Vanessa knelt in the freezing snow, their hands zip-tied behind their backs.
Vanessa was shivering violently in her ruined red silk dress, her makeup running down her face in ugly black streaks, her lips blue from the biting cold.
When she saw Luca walk onto the terrace with his arm firmly around my waist, her eyes blazed with desperate, venomous hatred.
"You're choosing her?!" Vanessa shrieked, her voice cracking in the freezing night air. "A common maid?! A South Side gutter rat who cleans your toilets?! I am a Bellini! My bloodline built this city!"
Luca stopped at the edge of the stone terrace, looking down at her from the top of the stairs.
"Your bloodline," Luca said, his voice ringing out across the courtyard for every soldier and capo to hear, "ends tonight because of your treachery. You beat Olivia because you thought she was powerless. You tried to poison me because you thought you were clever."
He raised his hand slightly.
"Strip them of their names, their assets, and their territory," Luca ordered his men. "Hand Don Antonio over to the federal authorities with the Cicero ledgers—let him spend the rest of his miserable life in a maximum-security cell. And Vanessa..."
Vanessa looked up, a glimmer of desperate hope flashing in her eyes. "Luca... please..."
"...put her on a cargo freighter bound for the southern tip of Argentina," Luca said, his tone colder than the winter snow. "No money. No passport. No name. If she ever steps foot in North America again, shoot her on sight."
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Vanessa began to scream—a shrill, hysterical sound that was abruptly cut off as Matteo’s men hauled her and her father away into the waiting armored vans.
The House of Bellini was dead.
