Chapter 8 - THE FACE IN THE BLOODSTAINED PHOTOGRAPH
“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer to Luca.
Luca didn’t answer. He just stared at the photograph, the muscle in his jaw ticking furiously.
He handed it to me.
I looked down.
It was a surveillance photo, taken from a distance. It showed the front gates of the Moretti estate.
The timestamp in the corner was from ten minutes ago.
Standing in the rain, looking directly at the hidden camera, was Marcus Bellini.
He wasn’t dead.
He had survived the fall into the lake.
And written across the bottom of the photo in black marker were four words:
I want the ledger.
“He’s alive,” I whispered, my blood running cold.
Luca crumpled the photo in his fist.
“He doesn’t have his men. He doesn’t have his money. He’s a desperate animal backed into a corner.”
Luca turned to Marco, who was slumped against the wall, pale and sweating.
“Who gave you this, Marco? Who intercepted the ambulance?”
“A kid,” Marco wheezed. “Just a street kid. Said a man in a wet suit gave him a hundred bucks to hand it to the medics.”
Luca pulled out his phone and dialed his head of security.
“Lock down the perimeter. Nobody gets in or out. I want every floodlight on. If a shadow moves, shoot it.”
He hung up and looked at me.
“Get your mother and Isabella into the panic room in the basement. Now.”
I didn’t argue. I ran to my mother, who was dozing on the sofa, and helped her up.
I rushed her to the stairs, meeting Isabella halfway. Isabella was holding a sleeping Leo tightly against her chest.
“What’s happening?” Isabella asked, panic creeping into her voice.
“Marcus survived,” I said bluntly. “Basement. Go.”
We hurried down the marble steps into the wine cellar. Isabella punched the code into a hidden keypad behind a wine rack. A heavy steel door slid open.
We ushered my mother and Leo inside. The room was stocked with water, communications, and reinforced steel walls.
Isabella turned to me. “Are you coming?”
“I need to help Luca,” I said.
Isabella grabbed my wrist. “Emma, you’re not a soldier.”
“Neither is he right now,” I said, looking at the ring on my finger. “He’s family.”
I pulled my hand away and ran back upstairs.
The estate was eerily quiet. The storm raged outside, throwing flashes of lightning through the massive windows.
I found Luca in his study.
He was loading a sleek black handgun. He slammed the magazine home with a sharp clack.
“I told you to go to the panic room,” Luca said without looking up.
“I’m not hiding while he’s out there,” I said.
Luca finally looked at me. He saw the stubborn set of my jaw. He sighed, reaching into his desk drawer.
He pulled out a small, silver revolver and handed it to me.
“Keep the safety on until you’re ready to pull the trigger,” he instructed.
I took the gun. It felt heavy and cold.
Suddenly, the lights in the study flickered.
Then, the entire house plunged into absolute darkness.
The backup generators didn’t kick on.
“He cut the main power,” Luca whispered. “And he sabotaged the backup.”
A loud crash echoed from the front of the house. Glass shattering.
Marcus was inside.
Luca grabbed my arm, pulling me behind the heavy oak desk.
“Stay low,” he breathed.
We waited in the dark. The only sound was the rain lashing against the glass.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Slow. Heavy. Wet shoes squeaking on the marble.
“Luca,” Marcus’s voice echoed through the dark house. It sounded distorted, unhinged.
“I know you have the ledger. Give it to me, and I’ll leave. Keep it, and I burn this house down with everyone inside.”
Luca didn’t make a sound.
The footsteps grew closer to the study doors.
I gripped the revolver, my palms sweating.
The heavy double doors slowly creaked open.
A flashlight beam swept across the room, illuminating the bookshelves, the leather chairs, and finally, the desk.
“I know you’re in here, boy,” Marcus sneered.
Luca stood up in one fluid motion, aiming his gun over the desk.
“Drop it, Marcus.”
Marcus didn’t drop his flashlight or his weapon. He just smiled.
“You never were very observant, Luca.”
Marcus shifted his flashlight beam slightly to the left.
Standing in the doorway, held firmly by the throat with a gun pressed to his head, was Marco.
Marcus hadn’t just survived. He had taken Luca’s injured right-hand man hostage.
May you like
“The ledger,” Marcus demanded. “Or Marco’s brains decorate your antique rugs.”
TITLE: THE BULLET THAT BROKE THE DARKNESS
