Chapter 6 - The Bellini Strike
Forty-eight hours after the birthday party, the silence that hung over the Moretti estate was broken by the sound of thunder—not from the stormy sky, but from the synchronized assault of high-caliber rifles.
It happened at three in the morning.
I was awakened by a violent shudder that rattled the bulletproof windows of the guest suite. Outside, sirens wailed in the distance, instantly cut short by the screech of metal and the staccato rhythm of automatic gunfire.
“Stay down!”
The door burst open, and Mrs. Carter rushed in, holding a small tactical bag, followed by two armed guards in full combat gear.
“Hannah, take Lily into the service corridor!” Mrs. Carter cried, her voice trembling but resolute. “They breached the south gate! A truck loaded with explosives took out the gatehouse!”
Lily was already screaming, clinging to my neck with all her strength. The painkillers in my system kept the throbbing in my thigh manageable, but my leg was still stiff and weak. I threw the covers off, swinging my feet to the floor, gritting my teeth against the fire that flared through my stitches.
“Where is Luca?” I shouted over the growing din of gunfire echoing from the front courtyard.
“He’s at the front perimeter!” one of the guards answered, checking his assault rifle. “Don Bellini brought half of New York’s mercenary muscle with him! They’re trying to burn the manor down to get his daughter back!”
Suddenly, the lights flickered twice and died, plunging the entire estate into suffocating darkness. The backup generators hummed for three seconds, then violently sputtered out.
*Someone cut the subterranean fuel lines,* I realized with sickening dread. *An inside job.*
“Michael,” I gasped.
“Michael broke out of the cellar,” the guard cursed into his radio. “He had a hidden handcuff key! He killed one of our guards and disabled the security grid! Move! Move now!”
I pulled Lily into my arms, ignoring the blinding pain shooting up my right leg. With Mrs. Carter guiding the way with a small tactical flashlight, we hurried down the service hallway, heading for the hidden dumbwaiter and reinforced laundry tunnels that led beneath the foundation—a system I had cleaned for nearly a year and knew better than any architect.
Gunfire erupted directly above us in the main gallery. The sounds of breaking porcelain, shattering mirrors, and men shouting in agony filled the house.
Luca’s voice echoed down the grand staircase—a roar of pure, unadulterated fury: “HOLD THE STAIRS! IF A SINGLE ONE REACHES THE UPPER LEVEL, FLAY THEM ALIVE!”
“Hannah, hurry!” Lily cried into my ear, her tears soaking into my collar. “I’m scared!”
“I’ve got you, Lily-bug,” I panted, dragging my wounded leg along the concrete floor of the service wing. “I’ve got you. Nobody is taking you. I promise.”
We reached the entrance of the sub-basement tunnel—a heavy iron storm hatch behind the pantry. Mrs. Carter turned the wheel, throwing the heavy door open.
“Go down!” Mrs. Carter urged. “It leads out toward the old carriage house past the tree line! There’s an armored SUV parked in the shed!”
Before I could lower Lily into the darkness, a cold, metallic click sounded from the shadow of the pantry archway.
“Going somewhere, little maid?”
A flashlight clicked on, blinding us.
May you like
Standing in the beam of light, his face covered in dried blood and bruises from Luca’s earlier beating, was Michael Moretti. In his right hand, he held a suppressed Glock .19, the barrel pointed directly at my chest.
***
