Chapter 6 - THE GALA OF LIES
Panic is a cold, suffocating blanket. It wrapped around my chest, pulling the air from my lungs.
“They took him,” I choked out, staring at the shattered pieces of my phone on the floor. “Bellini’s men got to the clinic. They have my dad.”
Luca’s expression instantly transformed from triumphant to lethal. He slammed his fist against the metal desk. “How? I had four of my best men stationed at that clinic!”
“Bellini didn’t use thugs,” Mr. Callahan said grimly, leaning on his cane. “He used paper. Lawyers. Forged medical proxies. He used the system, just like he did thirty years ago when he evicted us. You can’t shoot a lawyer holding a court order, Luca.”
Luca began pacing the basement office, his mind working furiously. “If Bellini wanted Arthur dead, he would have killed him in the clinic. He took him alive because he needs him. The trust fund requires a surviving trustee’s signature or biometric thumbprint to release the funds.”
“My dad can’t write anymore,” I said, my voice shaking. “His hand is paralyzed.”
“Then Bellini will force his thumbprint onto the transfer documents,” Luca said.
“We have to call the police!” I cried.
“No,” Luca said sharply. “If the cops show up, Bellini will claim it’s a medical dispute. He’ll stall them with lawyers for days. Arthur doesn’t have days. The stress of this alone could trigger another stroke.”
“Then what do we do?” I begged, tears finally spilling over.
Luca stopped pacing. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 9:00 PM.
“Tonight is the Bellini Foundation’s annual charity gala,” Luca said. “It’s at the Grand Continental Hotel downtown. The governor will be there. The mayor. Every camera in the city.”
“So?”
“Marcus Bellini is a narcissist. He won’t miss his own crowning social event. He’ll keep Arthur somewhere close until the gala is over, then force the transfer in the morning when the banks open.”
Luca walked over to a metal locker in the corner of the room. He pulled out a sleek, black tactical briefcase.
“We are going to that gala,” Luca said.
“I’m not invited,” I said, wiping my eyes. “And you just publicly humiliated his daughter and broke off the engagement. They won’t let us through the front door.”
“We’re not going through the front door,” Luca said. He looked at me, his gaze entirely serious. “Emma, you know the layout of the Grand Continental. You used to work catering there before you came to my house.”
I nodded slowly. “I know the service routes. The freight elevators.”
“Good.” Luca opened the briefcase. Inside were two sleek earpieces and a heavily modified tablet. “I need you to get me inside. Bellini has a private penthouse suite on the top floor of that hotel. That’s where he’ll be keeping Arthur.”
Mr. Callahan stepped forward. “I’m coming too.”
“No, Walter,” Luca said gently. “You’ve done enough. Stay here where it’s safe.”
“Michael was my friend,” the old man insisted stubbornly.
“And Arthur is my father,” I interrupted, finding a sudden well of steel inside myself. I looked at the elderly man. “Please, Mr. Callahan. Keep the microfilm safe. If we don’t make it back, take it to the FBI yourself.”
Walter looked at me, then nodded slowly. “Bring him home, Emma.”
An hour later, we were parked in a dark alley behind the towering glass structure of the Grand Continental Hotel.
Luca had changed into a flawless, midnight-blue tuxedo. He looked every inch the billionaire mafia boss. I had shed my damp clothes for a sleek, black evening gown Luca had procured from an emergency contact in the fashion district. With my hair pulled up and diamond studs in my ears, I looked like I belonged in the ballroom, not the kitchen.
“Remember the plan,” Luca whispered as we approached the loading dock. “You get us through the service corridors to the penthouse elevator. Once we’re up there, I handle Bellini’s guards.”
“And Vanessa?” I asked.
“Vanessa is a distraction,” Luca said coldly. “Keep your eyes on the prize.”
I swiped a discarded keycard from a catering cart left near the dumpsters. The magnetic lock clicked green. We slipped inside.
The smells of the hotel kitchen hit me instantly—roasting meats, truffles, and panic. We moved fluidly behind a row of massive stainless-steel refrigerators, avoiding the shouts of the head chef.
We reached the freight elevator unnoticed. I punched in the override code I remembered from three years ago. The doors slid shut.
“Penthouse,” Luca said, pressing the top button.
The ride up was agonizingly slow. My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at Luca. He was perfectly calm, adjusting his cuffs, his eyes focused.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked softly. “You could have just taken the microfilm to the police. You didn’t have to risk your life for my father.”
Luca looked down at me. The harsh fluorescent light of the elevator caught the deep amber in his eyes.
“My father spent his whole life trying to protect people from Marcus Bellini,” Luca said. “He failed to protect Arthur. I’m not going to let history repeat itself. And…” He paused, his voice softening. “I owe you, Emma. You saw the truth about Vanessa when I was blind to it.”
The elevator pinged. The doors opened.
We stepped out into a lavish, carpeted hallway adorned with modern art. At the end of the hall were two massive double doors guarded by two men in suits.
Luca didn’t hesitate. He strode down the hallway like he owned the building.
The guards reached inside their jackets. “Hey, no one is allowed up here—”
Luca didn’t even slow down. He grabbed the first guard’s wrist, twisted it, and drove his knee into the man’s stomach. As the first guard folded, Luca spun and delivered a brutal elbow to the second guard’s jaw. Both men were unconscious on the plush carpet in less than five seconds.
Luca adjusted his tie. He pushed the double doors open.
We stepped into the penthouse.
It was a sprawling, opulent suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline.
Sitting in a wheelchair in the center of the room, looking frail and terrified, was my father.
“Dad!” I screamed, running across the room and falling to my knees beside him.
He let out a muffled cry of relief, his good hand gripping my shoulder tightly.
“How touching,” a voice drawled from the shadows near the bar.
Marcus Bellini stepped into the light, holding a crystal glass of scotch. But he wasn’t alone.
Stepping out from the adjacent bedroom, holding a silver tray with a document and an ink pad, was Vanessa.
And standing directly behind my father’s wheelchair, pressing the barrel of a gun against the back of Arthur’s head, was the head of Luca’s own security detail.
“Hello, Boss,” the security chief said, cocking the hammer.
Luca froze.
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“Did you really think I didn’t have eyes inside your house, Luca?” Bellini smiled, taking a sip of his scotch. “How do you think I knew exactly which clinic to find the old man in?”
We had walked right into a trap.
