Chapter 7 - THE NORTH SIDE ENFORCERS"Hannah," Isabella whispered urgently, grabbing my sleeve with surprising strength. "You have to get out of here. If Victor Vance's men are here, it means Nicholas didn't just run away—he called his uncle's crew."
"Where is Luca?" I murmured, pressing my face against the cool glass of the window.
"He's alone," Isabella breathed, panic rising in her voice. "Even Luca can't take ten of Victor's enforcers without backup. They're here to finish what they started three years ago."
I looked down at the heavy brass key still resting on the floor where Luca had dropped it near the stairs.
"I'm not leaving you," I said firmly. "And I'm not leaving Sophie."
"Sophie!" Isabella gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "She's in the nursery! If they go inside the house..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence.
Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker leaning against the brick wall of the loft, tested its weight in my hand, and looked back at Isabella.
"Lock this door behind me," I said. "If I don't come back in twenty minutes, find a way out through the back window toward the woods. Head straight for the highway."
"Hannah, wait—"
I didn't wait. I slipped the iron latch, pulled the door open, and ran down the stairs into the damp night air.
I didn't take the open gravel path where the SUVs were parked. Instead, I ducked low into the thick shrubbery along the edge of the north gardens, using the dense hedges of boxwood and rhododendron as cover as I sprinted toward the glowing windows of the mansion.
As I reached the rear terrace, I could hear the muffled sounds of shouting coming from inside the grand foyer.
"...where is he, Nicholas?" a harsh, gravelly voice demanded.
I crept up to the French doors leading into the conservatory. The glass was slightly ajar to let in the cool night breeze. I peered inside.
Standing in the center of the marble foyer was a towering, broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his left cheek—Marcus Vance, Victor's enforcer and cousin to Vanessa. Beside him stood Nicholas, looking smug and wiping the blood from his lip, pointing toward the sweeping staircase.
And standing ten feet away from them, surrounded by four armed enforcers with drawn pistols, was Luca.
He didn't have a gun in his hand. His hands were empty, raised slightly at his sides, but his stance was terrifyingly balanced—the stance of a predator ready to spring.
"You're a fool, Luca," Marcus sneered, stepping closer and resting the barrel of his Sig Sauer against Luca's chest. "You thought you could lock up Vanessa and take down my uncle's entire operation over a couple of forged tax papers? The federal judge is on our payroll. By noon tomorrow, you'll be the one in a federal cell."
Luca didn't blink. He looked down the barrel of the gun as if it were a speck of dust on his lapel.
"Your uncle is already sitting in a holding cell downtown, Marcus," Luca said, his voice smooth and cold. "And the federal task force downloaded every ledger, every bribe, and every wire transfer off your servers six hours ago. You're not arresting me. You're just walking into a trap."
Marcus's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He pressed the gun harder against Luca's chest. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Luca tilted his head toward the front doors.
Before Marcus could turn around, the sound of sirens—dozens of them, wailing in a deafening chorus—erupted from the outer gates of the estate, accompanied by the blinding flash of red and blue cruiser lights painting the marble pillars in violent stripes.
"Federal marshals!" a voice roared through a megaphone from the driveway. "Drop your weapons! The estate is surrounded!"
Marcus panicked, his eyes darting toward the doors. "Kill him!" he screamed to his men.
Time seemed to slow down.
As the enforcer to Luca's left raised his pistol to fire, I didn't think. I pushed the French doors open, stepped onto the marble floor of the conservatory, and hurled the heavy iron fireplace poker across the room like a javelin.
Clang!
The iron bar struck the gunman squarely across the forearm, knocking the pistol out of his hand just as it discharged, sending a bullet harmlessly into the plaster ceiling.
Marcus spun around, leveling his gun right at me. "You little bitch—"
He never finished the sentence.
Luca moved faster than humanly possible. He lunged forward, grabbed Marcus's wrist, and twisted it with a sickening crack that echoed off the high vaulted ceilings. Marcus screamed, dropping his weapon as Luca drove his fist straight into his jaw, sending the big enforcer crashing backward onto the marble floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The remaining three enforcers dropped their weapons as federal agents in tactical gear swarmed through the front doors, zip-tying Nicholas and the gunmen within seconds.
The chaos died down as quickly as it had begun, leaving only the wailing sirens outside and the heavy, ragged breathing of the men in the foyer.
Luca stood amidst the chaos, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, his chest heaving.
Then his head snapped around, his dark eyes locking onto mine where I stood by the conservatory doors.
"Hannah," he breathed, rushing over to me, checking my arms and face as if looking for invisible injuries. "Are you alright? What are you doing out here? I told you to stay put!"
"I'm fine, Mr. Moretti," I panted, offering a shaky, exhausted smile. "Sophie is still upstairs asleep. And... your wife is waiting for you in the carriage house."
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Luca froze.
The tough, unyielding syndicate boss—the man who had just taken down armed enforcers with his bare hands—covered his face with his hands, let out a ragged breath, and for the second time that night, began to cry.
