Chapter 5 - THE BLOODLINE’S PRICE~1,100 words
The interior of the panic room was dead silent, save for the ragged sound of Luna’s breathing and the muffled, concussive thuds of gunfire echoing from the upper levels of the mansion.
She sat on a wool military blanket stored in a metal supply crate, her fingers tightly clutching the silver rosary in her pocket. Every vibration through the concrete floor felt like a hammer blow to her chest.
Was Luca alive?
The thought was an unbearable weight. Just an hour ago, he had stood before a hundred of the most powerful people in the criminal underworld and declared his love for a maid in a plain black dress. Now, a professional hit squad was methodically hunting him through the hallways of his own home.
Suddenly, a low, rhythmic scratching sound came from the heavy steel door.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
Luna froze. She stopped breathing, her eyes locked on the reinforced deadbolt.
“Luna?”
A voice whispered through the thick steel vent near the ceiling. It was raspy, exhausted, and barely audible, but she would know that cadence anywhere.
“Luca?” she scrambled up from the floor, pressing her face against the metal grate. “Luca, is that you? Are you okay?!”
“I’m here,” his voice came back, punctuated by a sharp hiss of pain. “Open the door. Quickly.”
Luna’s hands flew to the deadbolt. She threw the heavy steel latches and pulled the door open.
Luca stumbled inward into the dim light.
She gasped. His tuxedo jacket was torn open, stained with dark, spreading blood across his left shoulder. A deep laceration cut across his temple, and soot covered his face, but his green eyes still burned with fierce determination.
She grabbed his uninjured arm, guiding him toward the military blanket.
“Sit down—oh God, you’re bleeding!” Luna cried, her nursing instincts kicking in as she spotted the first-aid kit mounted to the concrete wall.
“I’m fine, mija,” Luca grunted, wincing as he leaned against the metal crate. “Just a graze. The vest caught the worst of it.”
“A graze? Luca, there is blood soaking through your shirt!”
She ripped open the first-aid kit, tearing open antiseptic wipes and sterile gauze pads. Her hands moved with practiced, desperate efficiency, cleaning the wound on his shoulder while he watched her with a strange, quiet wonder.
“You handled yourself well out there,” Luca murmured, enduring the sting of the antiseptic without flinching. “Most people would have panicked and run into the open.”
“I didn't have a choice,” she said, her voice shaking as she pressed a sterile pad against his skin. “Why are they doing this, Luca? Dmitri... why does he want you dead tonight?”
Luca stared down at the concrete floor, his jaw clenching.
“Because of the shipping routes I acquired last month,” he said darkly. “Dmitri thought he could use the Russian syndicate to squeeze our ports. When my father announced the marriage alliance tonight, Dmitri realized he couldn't control me through a compliant bride from an allied family. A traditional mafia marriage gives our enemies leverage. But marrying you... marrying someone outside the syndicate... it breaks their chess board entirely.”
Luna paused, her hands resting on his shoulder. “They were trying to kill you because of me?”
“No,” Luca corrected firmly, reaching up to gently cup her cheek with his warm, blood-stained hand. “They were trying to kill me because I refused to play their game anymore. Marrying you wasn't a mistake, Luna. It was the only real choice I’ve made in my entire life.”
Before Luna could answer, the secure monitor embedded in the wall of the panic room flickered to life.
The screen displayed a grainy, infrared feed from the kitchen security camera outside.
Two masked figures in tactical gear were standing right outside the pantry entrance, holding a thermal breaching charge.
Luca’s eyes narrowed. He looked down at his Beretta, checking the magazine. Only four rounds left.
“They found the door,” Luca whispered. “They’re going to blow the hinges.”
“Is there another way out?” Luna asked, panic spiking in her chest.
“Only the old drainage tunnel beneath the wine cellar,” Luca replied grimly. “And to get there, we have to cross fifty feet of open kitchen floor.”
He stood up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, and pulled Luna up beside him.
“Stay right behind me,” Luca ordered, lifting his pistol. “If I tell you to run, you run straight for the cellar door. Do you understand?”
Luna nodded, her knuckles white. “I understand.”
May you like
Luca reached out and punched the emergency override button, popping the pneumatic seal of the panic room door.
As the heavy steel swung outward into the dark, smoke-filled corridor, the thermal charge on the other side of the pantry began to hiss.
