Chapter 8 - THE SILVER REVOLVER
The cellar smelled of ancient dust and spilled vintage wine. Dr. Harris stood at the top of the stairs, the silver revolver steady in his hands. He wasn't aiming at Luca anymore. He had shifted the barrel to point directly at my chest. “I’m sorry, Claire,” Dr. Harris said, his voice as calm as it had been when he prescribed me anti-inflammatories. “You really should have stayed upstairs.” My blood froze. The doctor. He was the one who had cleared the medical wing. He was the one who had access to the entire house without ever being questioned. “You work for the Bellinis,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low. He didn't turn around. He kept Vanessa pinned to the wall, his thumb still holding down the red button on the detonator. “I work for whoever pays my gambling debts, Luca,” Dr. Harris replied. “Vanessa offered me three million from the South Side port deal. Now, drop the detonator. Let her walk out to the garage, and I’ll let the girl live.” Julian was still on his knees, shielding Leo with his own body, his gun out of reach on the floor. It was a complete stalemate. If Luca let go of the detonator, the house blew up. If he didn't, the doctor was going to shoot me. I looked at Luca’s broad back. I was a housemaid. I was replaceable. I had eighty dollars to my name and a fractured hand. But I wasn’t going to let this monster win. “Don’t do it, Mr. Moretti,” I said clearly. Vanessa laughed against the stone wall. “How noble. The little servant is willing to die for a boss who doesn't even know her last name.” Luca’s jaw tightened. “I know her last name,” Luca said softly. “It’s Dawson.” Then, Luca did something impossible. He looked at Vanessa, smiled a terrifying, predatory smile, and tossed the detonator directly into the air. Vanessa shrieked in pure terror, diving to the floor and covering her head. Dr. Harris flinched, instinctively ducking behind the stone archway, expecting the cellar to explode. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the blast. Nothing happened. The plastic detonator hit the stone floor and shattered into cheap, hollow pieces. There were no wires. No battery. No C4 in the elevator shaft. Vanessa had bluffed. And Luca had called it. In the split second Dr. Harris hesitated, Luca spun around, raising his heavy black handgun, and fired twice. The shots deafened the confined cellar. Dr. Harris cried out, dropping his revolver as he clutched his shattered right shoulder. He tumbled backward down the stone steps, landing in a groan of agony at the bottom. Julian leaped forward, kicking the silver revolver away and pinning the doctor to the ground. It was over. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Leo crying softly against his father’s chest. Luca slowly lowered his weapon. He turned back to Vanessa, who was curled on the floor amidst the broken glass and spilled wine, sobbing hysterically. Her bluff was called. Her moles were neutralized. Her vendetta was dead. “Julian,” Luca said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “Take the boy upstairs. Call the cleanup crew. Have them process the doctor and the guard.” Julian nodded, tears of profound gratitude shining in his eyes. He scooped Leo up and carried him toward the stairs. “And her?” Julian asked, looking down at Vanessa. Luca stared at the woman he was supposed to marry in three weeks. “Lock her in the soundproof wine vault,” Luca commanded. “She can sit in the dark and think about her family’s legacy until I decide what to do with her.” Julian didn't argue. He hauled a screaming, thrashing Vanessa off the floor, dragging her toward the heavy steel vault door at the back of the cellar. I stood alone near the iron gate, shivering. The adrenaline was finally crashing out of my system, leaving me weak, exhausted, and acutely aware of the agonizing pain in my fractured hand. Luca walked slowly toward me. He stopped a few feet away, surveying the ruined uniform, the soot on my face, the blood from a small cut on my cheek. He holstered his weapon. Then, he took off his expensive, tailored suit jacket and gently draped it over my shoulders. It was warm, and it smelled of cedar and gunpowder. “You saved my life tonight, Claire,” Luca said softly, his dark eyes searching my face. “You saved Julian’s son.” “I just pulled a lever,” I whispered, looking down at the broken glass. He reached out, placing his hand gently under my chin, lifting my face until I was forced to look at him. “You stood up to a gun for me,” he corrected quietly. “You didn't hesitate.” I didn't know what to say. The terrifying, untouchable mafia boss was looking at me with a reverence that made my breath catch in my throat. “Come upstairs,” Luca said, offering his arm. “Let’s get you home.” I nodded, taking a step forward. But as I moved, a sharp, blinding pain shot up my leg. I gasped, my knee buckling instantly. I had stepped on a massive shard of broken wine bottle hidden in the shadows, and it had sliced straight through the thin sole of my shoe. I started to fall toward the glass-covered floor. Luca caught me before I hit the ground.
