Chapter 7 - The Blood Pact
Isabella didn't look afraid. She looked annoyed.
“If you shoot me, my guards outside will turn you and your mother into Swiss cheese before you reach the elevator,” Isabella stated, taking a slow step forward. “Put the gun down, Rachel. You don’t have the stomach for murder.”
Rachel’s mother struggled against her restraints, letting out muffled cries behind the gag, her eyes begging Rachel to run.
“I’m not leaving without her,” Rachel said, keeping the barrel aimed squarely at Isabella’s chest.
“Then you’ll die with her,” Isabella snapped. She lunged forward, reaching for a small revolver hidden beneath the laptop.
Rachel didn't close her eyes.
She pulled the trigger.
The suppressed gunshot was surprisingly quiet, like a heavy book hitting a hardwood floor.
Isabella gasped. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking down at the rapidly expanding red stain on the shoulder of her white velvet gown.
She collapsed to her knees, screaming in agony.
The penthouse doors violently kicked open.
The two Moretti guards rushed in, weapons drawn.
But before they could aim at Rachel, a shadow moved behind them from the hallway.
Frank.
He fired twice. Two perfect, lethal shots. Both guards dropped instantly to the carpet.
Frank stepped into the room, stepping over the bodies. His suit was pristine.
“Nice shot, kid,” Frank grunted, walking over to untie Rachel’s mother.
Rachel lowered the gun, her hands finally shaking. She ran to her mother, pulling the gag from her mouth and wrapping her in a desperate embrace.
“I’ve got you,” Rachel cried, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
Isabella clutched her bleeding shoulder, groaning on the floor.
“You’re dead,” Isabella hissed at Frank. “Vincent is walking into an ambush at the shipyard.”
Frank smiled down at her. It was a terrifying smile.
“Vincent didn’t go to the shipyard,” Frank corrected. “He sent fifty empty cars driven by low-level enforcers to make a lot of noise. Vincent took his elite strike team to your father’s compound in Jersey.”
Isabella’s face drained of all color.
“The Moretti family is currently burning to the ground,” Frank said softly. “You played a good game, Isabella. But you forgot one thing. The Rossis don’t play games. We just end them.”
Frank pulled out his phone and made a single call.
“It’s done, Boss. We have the girls.”
Rachel helped her mother to her feet. She looked at Isabella bleeding on the floor, then down at the gun in her hand.
She didn't feel fear anymore. She felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. The blood in her veins wasn't a curse. It was a shield.
An hour later, they sat in the underground war room of the Rossi estate.
Vincent walked in. His suit smelled heavily of smoke and gunpowder.
He looked exhausted, but victorious.
He walked past Frank. He walked past his remaining capos.
He walked directly to Rachel and her mother.
Vincent stopped, looking down at the young woman who had saved his empire by understanding the enemy better than he did.
Vincent pulled out the heavy gold signet ring from his pocket. The one that bore the Rossi crest.
He didn't put it on his own finger.
He placed it on the mahogany table, right in front of Rachel.
“Your father’s seat has been empty for twenty-three years,” Vincent said, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
Rachel looked at the ring. Then at her mother, who nodded slowly, finally accepting the truth she had tried to run from.
Rachel reached out. Her fingers brushed the cool gold.
She picked it up.
“Welcome to the family,” Vincent said.
May you like
Rachel slid the ring onto her finger.
It was a perfect fit.
