Chapter 8 - THE FIRE AND THE FATHER
“Get away from my daughter,” Luca snarled, his voice a low, vibrating threat that made the hair on my arms stand up. He placed his body between Eliana and the men in the doorway, his broad shoulders fully shielding the little girl.
Victor Bellini, a tall, gaunt man with cold, calculating eyes, chuckled. He rested the barrel of the shotgun casually against the doorframe.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders, Luca,” Victor said smoothly. “Marcus was kind enough to inform me that you were on your way. You really should ensure your basement guards aren’t on my payroll.”
I stared at Marcus. His face was bruised and bloody from where Luca had beaten him, but he looked incredibly smug.
“Vanessa is weak,” Marcus spat, clicking the silver lighter open and shut. “She panicked. But Victor and I? We plan ahead. This whole building is wired to burn, boss. We walk out with the girl, and you burn to ash. A tragic rescue attempt gone wrong.”
“You’re not taking her,” I said, my voice trembling but loud in the small room. I pulled Eliana tighter against my chest. “She’s a child. She has nothing to do with your empire.”
Victor looked at me, his eyes narrowing in disgust. “Ah, the maid. Vanessa told me you were a nuisance. You should have stayed in Chicago to wash dishes. Now you’ll die with them.”
He raised the shotgun, aiming it squarely at Luca’s chest.
“Say goodbye, Moretti.”
Before Victor could pull the trigger, a deafening crack echoed through the hallway.
Victor screamed, dropping the shotgun as blood exploded from his right shoulder. He crumpled to the floor, writhing in agony.
Marcus spun around, raising his weapon, but another shot rang out, blowing the silver lighter cleanly out of his hand.
Standing at the end of the hallway, leaning heavily on his silver-tipped cane, was Arthur. He held a smoking revolver steady in his good hand.
“I told you, Marcus,” Arthur called out, limping forward. “You should have checked my pulse four years ago.”
Marcus panicked. Without his lighter to ignite the accelerant and his boss bleeding on the floor, he abandoned ship. He turned and sprinted toward the back exit, disappearing into the dark corridors of the academy.
Luca didn’t chase him. He kicked Victor’s shotgun across the room, grabbed Victor by the collar, and slammed him against the wall.
“Where is the trigger for the explosives?” Luca roared.
Victor, pale and bleeding, spat at him. “Burn in hell.”
Luca pulled a hunting knife from his boot and pressed the blade tight against Victor’s throat. “The trigger. Now.”
Victor’s bravado shattered. He pointed a trembling finger toward a small red box wired to the wall near the door. “It’s on a thirty-second timer! If you open the door, it arms!”
Luca dropped him. He turned to me. “Hannah! Take Eliana. We have to go through the window!”
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a heavy wooden chair from the corner of the room and hurled it at the barred window. The glass shattered, but the iron bars held strong.
“They’re welded shut!” I cried, pulling Eliana back from the broken glass.
Luca ran over, grabbing the iron bars with both hands. He planted his boots against the concrete wall and pulled with everything he had. The muscles in his back strained against his suit jacket, a guttural roar ripping from his throat.
The concrete cracked. The heavy iron bars groaned, bent, and finally snapped free, tumbling out into the snow.
“Go!” Luca ordered, lifting Eliana and passing her carefully through the broken window into the freezing night air.
I climbed up onto the sill, feeling the jagged edges of the glass tear at my jeans. I dropped down into the snow beside Eliana.
Luca turned back to Arthur, who was standing in the doorway, staring down at Victor Bellini.
“Arthur! Come on!” Luca yelled.
Arthur looked at Luca. He smiled—a sad, exhausted smile.
“I’m tired of running, Luca,” Arthur said softly. “Tell Catherine I kept my promise.”
“Arthur, no!” Luca shouted, lunging forward.
But Arthur stepped fully into the room and kicked the heavy wooden door shut behind him.
The loud click of the armed timer echoed through the broken window.
“Luca, we have to move!” I screamed, grabbing his arm as he tried to climb back inside.
Luca looked at the closed door, his face twisted in grief. Then he grabbed my hand and Eliana’s hand, and we ran.
We sprinted across the snowy courtyard, diving behind the reinforced steel of Dante’s Suburban just as the timer hit zero.
The explosion was massive.
A shockwave of heat and fire blasted through the freezing air, shattering every remaining window in the academy. The roof of the dormitory collapsed inward, sending a pillar of orange flame roaring into the dark sky.
I covered Eliana with my body, burying her face in my coat so she wouldn’t see the destruction.
When the rumbling stopped and the debris settled, the academy was nothing more than a blazing inferno.
Arthur was gone. Victor was gone.
But we were alive.
Luca slowly sat up in the snow. He looked at the burning building, taking a deep, ragged breath. The war that had haunted him for four years was finally over.
He turned to Eliana. The little girl was shivering, staring up at him with Catherine’s bright green eyes.
Luca reached out, pulling her gently into his massive arms.
“I’ve got you,” Luca whispered, burying his face in her dark hair, crying freely. “Daddy’s got you. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”
Eliana wrapped her small arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. “Are we going home now?”
Luca looked at me, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes.
“Yes,” he said softly. “We’re going home.”
Dante and the remaining guards secured the perimeter. They found Marcus two miles down the road, shivering in the snow and begging for mercy. Dante didn’t give him any. He threw Marcus into the trunk of a separate car, destined for a very deep, very dark hole in Chicago.
We boarded the jet as the sun began to rise over the mountains, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds.
I sat across from Luca, watching him wrap a heavy wool blanket around his daughter as she fell asleep across his lap.
He looked up at me.
“Hannah,” Luca said, his voice raw. “I owe you my life. I owe you my family.”
I smiled tiredly. “You don’t owe me anything, Luca. I just wanted to help her.”
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He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the heavy silver locket that had started it all. He opened it, ignoring the photo of Vanessa and Arthur, and popped the picture out. He tossed it into a small trash can beside him.
“The past is gone,” Luca said, closing the empty locket. “It’s time to rebuild.”
