Chapter 7 - THE STOLEN RING AND THE SACRIFICE
The word EXPLOSIVES seemed to glow ominously in the beam of my small flashlight.
“Oh my God,” Serena whispered, pulling Leo tighter against her leg. The seven-year-old boy was whimpering, covering his ears to block out the terrifying sounds of the gunfight raging outside.
Judge Vance hadn't just brought us to an empty warehouse. This was an illegal munitions stash, likely a highly profitable side hustle for the corrupt judge and the Maroni syndicate. We were standing inside a massive bomb, and outside, dozens of men were firing automatic weapons at the thin metal walls.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, my voice shaking. “If a stray bullet hits the wrong crate, this entire building goes up.”
I swung the flashlight wildly, searching the massive, cavernous space for a back exit.
“There’s no other door,” Serena said, panic rising in her throat. She looked wildly at the stacks of crates. “They planned this. Richard knew that if Alexander brought his men, a firefight would ignite the warehouse. He meant to kill us all and blame it on an industrial accident.”
Outside, the gunfire intensified. I heard men shouting, the crunch of gravel, and the terrifying, heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground. Alexander was fighting a war he was vastly outnumbered in.
I looked at Serena. She wasn't just a socialite anymore. Her mascara was running, her gown was ruined, but the fierce, protective instinct of a mother burned in her eyes.
“Serena,” I said quickly. “Your father is the head of the Maroni syndicate. If he’s out there leading the assault, would he order his men to stop firing if he knew you and Leo were inside?”
Serena hesitated. The pain of a lifetime of paternal betrayal flashed across her face. “My father doesn't care about me, Sophie. He proved that when he forced me to spy on Alexander. But Leo… Leo is his only grandson. The only blood heir to the Maroni name. He wouldn't risk blowing up the boy.”
It was a desperate gamble, but it was the only one we had.
“We have to show him Leo is inside,” I said.
“Are you insane?” Serena gasped. “If we open that door, we’ll be cut to pieces in the crossfire!”
“Not if I go out first,” a voice said from the darkness.
We spun around.
Standing a few feet away, clutching his bleeding ribs, was Richard Bellucci. He must have slipped through the door right behind us when the shooting started. He looked pathetic, soaked in rain and blood, but he was holding a heavy silver revolver pointed directly at us.
“The plan has changed,” Richard wheezed, a desperate, manic look in his eyes. “Alexander is going to die out there. But I need insurance to make sure the Maronis honor our deal. You two are my insurance.”
He pointed the gun at Leo.
“Come here, boy,” Richard commanded.
Serena stepped firmly in front of her son, shielding him entirely with her body. “If you want him, Richard, you’ll have to put a bullet through my heart first.”
Richard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Gladly.”
He cocked the hammer of the revolver.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I reached into the deep pocket of the winter coat I was still wearing. My fingers didn't find the pistol—I had dropped that outside. But my fingers brushed against something else. Something hard and metallic that had been hidden deep in the lining of Margaret’s old coat.
I ripped it out and threw it as hard as I could directly at Richard’s face.
It wasn't a weapon. It was a heavy, solid gold object.
It struck Richard square in the forehead, knocking him backward. The revolver fired wildly into the ceiling, the deafening blast ringing in my ears.
Richard staggered, dropping the gun as he clutched his bleeding head.
Serena didn't hesitate. She launched herself forward, kicking the fallen revolver far out of Richard’s reach into the dark recesses of the warehouse.
I ran forward and grabbed the object I had thrown, scooping it off the dusty concrete floor.
I shone my flashlight on it.
It was a heavy, ornate gold wedding ring.
I stared at it in shock. I remembered the note Alexander had read in the hidden cellar. His mother had written that she gave the truth to the one person who never leaves the horses. Margaret. Margaret had worn this winter coat for twenty years, completely unaware that the ultimate proof of Richard’s betrayal was sewn into the lining.
This was Alexander’s father’s wedding ring. The one Richard had ripped from his brother’s finger after he murdered him.
Richard groaned, trying to push himself up from the floor.
“Don't move,” I commanded, standing over him with the heavy gold ring clutched in my fist.
Suddenly, the massive metal doors of the warehouse shrieked as they were pushed open from the outside.
The rain poured in, silhouetting a towering, terrifying figure.
Vincent Maroni.
The boss of the rival syndicate stood in the doorway, surrounded by half a dozen heavily armed men. The gunfire outside had ceased. The silence was more terrifying than the noise.
“Well, well,” Vincent Maroni said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone. He stepped into the warehouse. He didn't look at Richard on the floor. He didn't look at me.
He looked directly at Serena.
“Hello, daughter,” Vincent said coldly.
Serena stood tall, keeping Leo safely behind her legs. “Father.”
Vincent gestured to the crates of explosives surrounding us. “You’re lucky my men realized what this building was before they threw a grenade inside. Where is Bellucci?”
“He’s alive,” Vincent stated, sounding annoyed. “My men have him pinned down behind the train cars. But it’s over. We have the numbers. The Bellucci empire ends tonight.”
He looked down at Leo. A flicker of possessive pride crossed the old mobster’s face. “Come here, grandson. We’re going home.”
Leo shrank back, burying his face in Serena’s ruined gown. “No. I want Alexander.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “The boy has been corrupted by that bastard’s influence.”
“Alexander is ten times the man you are,” Serena spat, her voice ringing with absolute defiance. “He loves Leo. You only want him as a trophy.”
Vincent sighed, adjusting his expensive Italian suit. “You always were too sentimental, Serena. Bring the boy to the car,” he ordered his men. “If the mother resists, shoot her.”
Two heavily armed thugs stepped forward.
“Stop!” I yelled, stepping between the thugs and Serena.
I held up my hand, opening my palm to reveal the heavy gold wedding ring glinting in the beam of the flashlight.
Vincent Maroni stopped. He stared at the ring. He recognized it instantly. Everyone in the Chicago underworld knew the legendary ring of the former Bellucci boss.
“Where did you get that?” Vincent demanded.
“It’s proof,” I said quickly, my heart hammering. “It proves that Alexander’s father wasn't killed by a Maroni hit squad twenty years ago. He was killed by his own brother. Richard.”
I pointed down at the bleeding, pathetic man on the floor.
“Richard orchestrated the murder,” I said rapidly. “He framed your syndicate to start a war. He used your men as a scapegoat. And now, he’s using you again. He didn't bring you here to hand over the empire. He brought you here to blow you up along with Alexander, so he could take control of both families.”
Vincent slowly turned his head to look at Richard.
“Is this true, Richard?” Vincent asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Richard scrambled backward, terror finally breaking through his arrogant facade. “No! It’s a lie! The maid is lying! Kill her!”
Vincent didn't say a word. He simply raised his hand.
One of his thugs stepped forward, raised his rifle, and fired a single shot into Richard’s leg.
Richard screamed, collapsing in a pool of his own blood.
“Take him to the cars,” Vincent ordered coldly. “We will have a very long conversation about my men he got killed in a fake war twenty years ago.”
Vincent looked back at Serena, then at the ring in my hand.
Before he could speak, a voice echoed from the open doorway.
“Let them go, Vincent.”
Alexander Bellucci stood in the rain, bleeding from a cut above his eye, his white shirt soaked red from a graze wound on his shoulder. But he was standing. And he was holding an explosive detonator in his hand, a thick wire trailing from it directly into the nearest crate of munitions.
May you like
He had rigged the warehouse.
“If your men make a move toward my family,” Alexander said, his thumb resting heavily on the red button, “I blow this entire yard to kingdom come. With you inside it.”
