Chapter 3 - Poison in the Champagne
The darkness was instantly punctured by the deafening sound of breaking glass.
“DOWN!” Luca roared.
In a fraction of a second, muscle memory born from decades of surviving gang wars took over. Luca lunged across the floor, wrapping his massive arms around Isabella and Maria, driving them behind the heavy, bulletproof mahogany head table just as the first barrage of automatic gunfire tore through the ballroom windows.
High-caliber rounds shattered the towering stained-glass arches, raining lethal shards of crystal down upon the screaming guests. The room erupted into absolute pandemonium. Billionaires, politicians, and socialites clawed at each other, stampeding toward the emergency exits, only to find the heavy oak doors barred from the outside.
“Falcone’s hit squad!” Marco yelled over the deafening cacophony of gunfire. Muzzle flashes illuminated the vast room in violent, strobe-light bursts.
From the upper balconies, four men dressed in tactical gear and night-vision goggles opened fire, aiming directly at the head table.
“Marco! Clear the lower terrace! Protect the girl!” Luca barked. He reached into his waistband and pulled his custom chrome Beretta 92FS. Without hesitation, he leaned around the edge of the mahogany table, aligned his sights with the muzzle flashes above, and squeezed the trigger twice.
A body tumbled from the mezzanine balcony, crashing through an ornate champagne tower before hitting the floor with a wet thud.
Isabella clamped her hands over her ears, curling into a tight ball against the floor, tears streaming down her face as she shielded her stomach. “Dad! Dad!”
“Look at me, Bella!” Luca grabbed her face, forcing her to look into his blazing eyes. “Look at your father! You are safe. Nobody touches you. Not ever again. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, hyperventilating.
“Maria,” Luca commanded the old maid, whose face was pale but steady. “Take my daughter through the servant’s dumbwaiter down to the sub-basement bunker. Enter the code 1-1-0-4. Elena’s birthday. Do not open that door for anyone except me or Marco.”
“I will protect her with my life, Signor Moretti,” Maria vowed.
“No, Dad! Don't leave me!” Isabella cried, clinging to his sleeve.
“I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. I’m cleaning house,” Luca said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now, GO!”
Maria dragged Isabella toward the service door behind the banquet dais, moving beneath the cover of the shadows.
Meanwhile, across the room, Vanessa scrambled frantically through the darkness. She had kicked off her high heels and was crawling toward the broken terrace doors where a black SUV was idling on the gravel lawn, engine revving.
Luca saw her.
He didn’t run. He advanced with the cold, unstoppable momentum of a freight train. A mercenary jumped from behind a marble pillar, aiming an MP5 at Luca’s chest. Luca sidestepped, grabbed the barrel of the weapon, twisted it outward with enough torque to snap the man’s wrist, and drove his combat knife cleanly into the operative's throat. He didn't even slow down.
Vanessa burst through the terrace doors, gasping the cool Chicago night air, screaming for help: “Julian! I’m here! Get me out!”
A man stepped out of the idling SUV. It wasn’t Julian Falcone. It was his eldest son and chief lieutenant, Dominic Falcone. In his hand was a leather briefcase.
“Did you get the safe code from Luca’s office?” Dominic yelled over the gunfire.
“He knows! He read Elena’s letter! Forget the code, kill him!” Vanessa screamed, lunging for the SUV door.
A heavy hand grabbed Vanessa’s hair, yanking her backward with such force that she fell flat on her back onto the cold gravel driveway.
Luca stood over her, his Beretta aimed straight at Dominic Falcone.
“Dominic,” Luca said, his voice cold as a winter grave. “You walked into the wrong house.”
Dominic grinned, though a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He slowly raised his hands, revealing a small remote detonator in his right palm.
“You think this was about an engagement party, Moretti?” Dominic taunted, stepping back toward the armored vehicle. “My father doesn't care about your mansion. This was a diversion. While you’re here playing protective daddy to a bastard child, Julian is already at Lake Geneva. He broke into the bunker twenty minutes ago. The ledger is ours. Your whole empire dies tonight.”
Luca’s jaw set into stone. “The bunker is rigged, Dominic. Did your father really think Elena Moretti wouldn't set a trap?”
Dominic’s grin faltered. “What?”
Before Dominic could press the detonator, a shot rang out from the terrace shadow. Marco stepped out, a sniper rifle smoking in his hands. The round took Dominic cleanly through the shoulder, sending him spinning into the gravel as the detonator flew from his grip.
The SUV driver panicked, slammed the vehicle into reverse, and sped away, leaving Vanessa and Dominic behind.
Luca stepped forward, his boot coming down hard on Dominic’s chest, pinning him to the earth.
“Marco,” Luca ordered quietly. “Throw Dominic and Vanessa into the meat lockers at the meatpacking district. Keep them alive until I return.”
“And where are you going, Boss?” Marco asked, reloading his sidearm.
May you like
Luca turned his head toward the north, where the dark highway led toward Lake Geneva. “I'm going to finish what my wife started.”
***
