Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET
“A one-way ticket to Geneva,” Luca muttered, staring at the small piece of cardboard. “She wasn't going to send Sofia away after the wedding. She was planning to flee the country herself.”
“With the trust fund money,” I realized. “Vanessa was going to drain the accounts tomorrow, leave you at the altar, and vanish into Switzerland with Dr. Bianchi.”
The sheer audacity of the betrayal hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the mansion.
The lights flickered and died, plunging the study into darkness before the red emergency generators kicked on. Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Marco burst back into the room, covered in drywall dust, his gun drawn.
“Boss! It’s Carlo’s men! They blew the front gates!” Marco yelled over the sound of automatic gunfire echoing from the courtyard. “He’s not going down without a fight. He brought heavily armed mercenaries!”
Carlo Bellini knew his time was up, and he was making a desperate, violently suicidal play to wipe out the Moretti bloodline and take the empire by force.
“Secure the perimeter! Get my daughter to the safe room!” Luca ordered, grabbing extra magazines from his desk.
“Daddy, no!” Sofia cried, terrified as the gunfire grew louder.
“Emily, take her!” Luca commanded, pushing the wheelchair toward me. “The safe room is behind the wine cellar. Go! Now!”
I grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and sprinted down the private service hallway. I knew the layout of this house better than anyone; I had scrubbed every inch of these floors for eleven months.
We bypassed the main stairs, taking the servant’s elevator down to the basement.
The air was thick with smoke. Shouts and the metallic clatter of shell casings echoed through the sprawling underground corridors.
As we reached the wine cellar, a tall figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking our path.
It was Carlo Bellini. He held a silenced pistol, his face twisted in a mask of desperate madness.
“Going somewhere, little maid?” Carlo sneered.
I shoved Sofia’s wheelchair behind a massive oak wine barrel, putting my body between the gun and the little girl.
“Let her go, Carlo,” I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the terror gripping my chest.
“I can't do that,” Carlo said, raising the gun. He reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out a heavy, gleaming gold signet ring. It bore the Moretti family crest.
“Do you know what this is?” Carlo asked, his eyes wild. “Luca’s father gave this to me thirty years ago. We built this empire together! But the old man left it all to his spoiled son. I deserve this family’s wealth. I earned it!”
May you like
“You earned nothing,” a dark voice boomed from the end of the cellar.
Luca stepped into the dim light, his weapon raised, his eyes burning with the fires of hell.
