Chapter 7 - THE BURNING WRECKAGE
The heat radiating from the burning SUV hit me a hundred yards before we even reached the wreckage.
The vehicle was engulfed in a towering inferno of orange and black, the flames licking hungrily at the frozen branches of the pine trees above. The explosion had completely blown out the windows and warped the heavy steel doors.
Luca was already there, standing dangerously close to the inferno, his massive frame silhouetted against the fire. He was screaming Isabella’s name, his voice tearing completely apart in absolute agony.
“Boss, step back!” Marco yelled, rushing forward and grabbing Luca by the shoulders to drag him away from the intense heat. “The gas tank could blow again!”
“Let me go!” Luca roared, fighting against Marco with terrifying strength. “She’s in there! My wife is in there!”
I stopped dead in my tracks, my hands covering my mouth, sobbing uncontrollably.
The flames roared, consuming everything. There was no way anyone could have survived that explosion. The devastating realization that we were five minutes too late crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Vincent Bellini’s guards must have caught Isabella trying to steal one of their vehicles and detonated a remote explosive.
Luca finally collapsed onto his knees in the snow, completely broken. The ruthless mafia boss, the man who commanded an empire, was reduced to a weeping, shattered husband watching his entire world burn.
“I lost her,” Luca wept, burying his face in his hands. “I lost her again.”
I walked slowly toward him, intending to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, though I knew nothing could possibly console him now.
But as I took a step closer to the burning car, the shifting wind blew the smoke away for a brief second.
I saw the license plate through the flames.
It was melted and blackened, but the first three letters were still visible. B-E-L.
I frowned, my tear-filled eyes darting to the side of the road.
The explosion had blown the heavy steel bumper completely off the vehicle. It lay twisted in the snowbank a few feet away.
I walked over to it.
It wasn't a standard SUV bumper. It was heavily reinforced steel, customized with a massive winch.
I turned around, looking back up the mountain toward the cabin.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice cutting through the crackle of the fire.
Luca didn't look up. He remained on his knees, weeping.
“Mr. Moretti, look at me!” I yelled, running over to him and grabbing his shoulder.
He finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with absolute despair.
“It’s not Isabella in that car,” I stated firmly, pointing toward the flaming wreckage.
Marco frowned, stepping closer. “Hannah, what are you talking about? She stole the guards’ car to escape.”
“Look at the bumper in the snow,” I said, pointing frantically. “And look at the melted license plate. That’s a customized, heavy-duty tactical vehicle. It’s one of your security SUVs, Marco. The ones parked at the cabin were standard, unmarked black sedans.”
Marco’s eyes widened. He immediately pulled his radio from his belt.
“Alpha team, report,” Marco ordered sharply.
Static.
“Alpha team, this is Marco. Report your position immediately!”
A voice finally crackled over the radio, coughing violently.
“Sir… we took a hit. We’re pinned down on the ridge, half a mile east of the cabin.”
Luca slowly stood up, the despair in his eyes instantly replaced by a terrifying, cold fury.
“Who pinned you down?” Marco demanded.
“Vincent’s reinforcement team,” the guard coughed. “They ambushed us on our way up the mountain. They blew our lead car with an RPG.”
“Are they moving toward the cabin?” Luca asked, snatching the radio from Marco.
“No, Boss. They aren't moving toward the cabin. They’re tracking footprints in the snow. Heading east. Toward the old logging camp.”
Luca looked at me.
Isabella wasn't in the car. She hadn't stolen a vehicle at all. She had fled into the woods on foot with a three-year-old child, and Vincent’s reinforcements were hunting her down.
“Marco,” Luca ordered, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating register. “Call the pilot. Tell him to fly a search grid over the eastern ridge with the thermal cameras. I want every single one of Vincent’s men found.”
“And then what, Boss?” Marco asked, drawing his rifle.
“And then,” Luca said, checking the magazine of his own weapon, “we slaughter them.”
We sprinted back up the mountain, bypassing the cabin entirely, following the deep, frantic footprints in the snow leading east into the dense forest.
The wind howled through the pines, biting through my coat, but I couldn't feel the cold. The adrenaline pumping through my veins masked everything.
After twenty minutes of running, the sound of gunfire echoed through the trees ahead.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
“They found her,” Luca growled, breaking into a dead sprint.
We burst through the tree line into a small clearing.
In the center of the clearing sat the rusted remains of an old logging cabin. The roof had caved in years ago, but the thick log walls were still standing.
Five of Vincent’s heavily armed men were advancing on the ruins, firing their weapons suppressing the structure.
“Isabella is in there!” I screamed.
Luca didn't hesitate. He raised his handgun and fired three times in rapid succession while running at full speed.
Three of Vincent’s men dropped instantly, dead before they hit the snow.
The remaining two spun around in panic. Marco took them out with a single burst from his rifle.
The clearing went dead silent, save for the echo of the gunshots bouncing off the mountainside.
Luca didn't wait for Marco to clear the perimeter. He sprinted directly toward the ruined logging cabin.
“Isabella!” Luca roared, throwing his gun into the snow and tearing at the rotting wooden door with his bare hands.
He ripped the door off its hinges and threw it aside.
The inside of the ruined cabin was pitch black.
I ran up behind him, shining a flashlight into the darkness.
Huddled in the corner, clutching a heavy iron fireplace poker like a weapon, was a woman.
She was wearing a dirty, oversized winter coat. Her long dark hair was matted, her face smeared with dirt and soot. She was trembling violently, her eyes wide with absolute terror.
Tucked safely behind her, shielded completely by her body, was a little boy with dark, curly hair.
Luca froze.
The flashlight beam illuminated her face.
It was Isabella.
She was alive.
Luca fell to his knees in the snow, the tears returning, but this time, they were tears of absolute, profound relief.
“Isabella,” Luca whispered, reaching his hands out toward her. “My God, Isabella.”
But Isabella didn't lower the iron poker. She gripped it tighter, backing further into the corner, pressing the terrified little boy against the wall.
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She looked at Luca, the husband she had loved and lost, the man she had sacrificed her life to protect, with eyes full of absolute horror.
“Stay away from us!” Isabella screamed, her voice cracking with raw panic. “Don't you touch my son! I’ll kill you, Luca! I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”
