Chapter 6 - THE MIDNIGHT WRECKING CREW
“He’s going to burn it down,” I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. Thirty-seven people. Families, elderly widows, people who had nowhere else to go. Silvio Bellini was going to incinerate them just to destroy the evidence of his own crimes.
“Get the estate doctor in here immediately,” Luca ordered his guards, his voice cracking like a whip. “Nobody leaves this room until I say so.”
He reached down, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet. His grip was firm, anchoring me to reality as my world spun out of control.
“We have ten minutes to get across the city,” Luca said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Keep that rosary safe, Claire.”
I shoved the heavy silver beads deep into the pocket of my apron.
“I’m coming with you,” a voice called out.
We turned. Anthony was standing by the table. He had taken off his expensive suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His hands were still trembling, but his jaw was set with a desperate, pathetic resolve.
“I know the layout of the basement,” Anthony pleaded. “I know where the vault is. Silvio had me map it out years ago. Let me help you.”
Luca stared at his younger brother. The betrayal was still a raw, bleeding wound between them, but the clock was ticking.
“If you betray me again, Anthony,” Luca warned softly, “I won't wait for the cartel. I will put you in the ground myself.”
Anthony nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”
“Luca, wait!” Vanessa screamed from the floor. She scrambled to her feet, her red dress torn at the hem. “You can't just leave me here! The cartel will find out I failed! They’ll kill me!”
Luca didn't even look at her. “You made your bed, Vanessa. Pray your father doesn't burn it.”
We ran.
Through the grand foyer, out the massive mahogany doors, and into the freezing, torrential New Orleans rain. Three black SUVs were already idling in the circular driveway, their headlights cutting through the storm like blades.
Luca shoved me into the back seat of the lead vehicle. He climbed in beside me, while Anthony jumped into the front passenger seat next to the armed driver.
“Go,” Luca ordered.
The tires screamed against the wet asphalt as the convoy shot through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, tearing into the city streets.
The ride was a blur of neon lights and violently sweeping windshield wipers. I clutched the edge of the leather seat, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them.
Luca reached across the seat and placed his hand over mine. His hand was warm, solid, and incredibly grounding.
“We will get there in time, Claire,” he said softly, leaning closer so the driver couldn't hear over the roar of the engine. “I swear to you on my father’s grave, Silvio Bellini will not touch those people.”
I looked at him. The man who had been my untouchable, intimidating employer for five years was sitting beside me, risking his empire and his life to finish a fight my father started.
“Why are you doing this, Luca?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You could have handed over the key to Box 815 and washed your hands of this. You could have walked away.”
Luca looked out the window at the rain. The streetlights illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw.
“Because my father built this family on blood,” Luca murmured. “He justified it by saying he was protecting our own. But he let Thomas die. He let you and your mother live in poverty while we lived in a mansion. That isn't protection. That’s tyranny. I am going to end it tonight.”
The SUV suddenly slammed on its brakes, throwing me forward against my seatbelt.
“Boss,” the driver growled, gripping the steering wheel. “We have a problem.”
I looked out the windshield.
We were three blocks away from Rose Street, but we couldn't go any further.
The street was entirely blocked off by four New Orleans Police Department cruisers. Their lights were flashing red and blue, painting the wet pavement in a chaotic strobe. Uniformed officers were standing behind yellow barricades, turning traffic away.
“Silvio bought the police barricade,” Anthony cursed from the front seat, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “He’s claiming it’s a condemned building demolition. They’re giving him a perimeter.”
“Drive through them,” Luca commanded without hesitation.
The driver swallowed. “Sir, they’re cops.”
“I don't care if they’re the National Guard,” Luca snapped. “Hit the gas.”
But before the driver could accelerate, the crackle of a megaphone echoed through the rain.
“This is a restricted area! Turn your vehicles around immediately!”
Luca cursed under his breath. He unbuckled his seatbelt and shoved his door open, stepping out into the freezing rain.
“Luca, what are you doing?!” I shouted, unbuckling my own belt and following him out into the storm.
Luca marched directly toward the barricade, the rain instantly soaking his tailored suit. Four police officers unholstered their weapons, aiming them right at his chest.
“Stop right there, Mr. Romano!” the lead officer yelled, wiping rain from his eyes. “We have orders from the precinct captain! This zone is closed!”
Luca didn't stop until he was inches from the barricade. He stared down the barrels of the guns without a single flinch.
“Your captain is on Silvio Bellini’s payroll,” Luca roared over the storm. “There are thirty-seven people inside that building, and Bellini is pouring gasoline on the floorboards! If you don't let me pass, you will all be accessories to mass murder!”
The officers hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. They were dirty, but clearly, they hadn't signed up for a massacre.
Before the lead officer could respond, a massive, terrifying sound ripped through the night.
BOOM.
The ground vibrated beneath our feet.
I spun around, looking past the barricade toward Rose Street.
A plume of thick, black smoke was billowing up into the rainy sky.
“They breached the basement door,” Anthony shouted, running up beside us. “They’re inside!”
Panic exploded in my chest.
I didn't think. I just acted.
I ducked under the yellow police tape and sprinted past the officers.
“Hey! Stop!” an officer yelled, grabbing for my arm.
Luca intercepted him, shoving the officer backward with brutal force. “Don't touch her!”
Chaos erupted at the barricade as Luca’s guards poured out of the SUVs to engage the police, but I didn't stop. I ran down the flooded street, the silver rosary bouncing heavily in my pocket, my lungs burning with every breath.
I rounded the corner of Rose Street and skidded to a halt.
The scene was a nightmare.
The massive yellow bulldozers had smashed through the iron gates of the courtyard. The front doors of the kitchen were completely torn off their hinges.
And standing in the rain, surrounded by terrified, crying elderly residents huddled under blankets, was a line of Bellini security thugs holding baseball bats and crowbars.
At the center of it all stood Silvio Bellini. A tall, gray-haired man in a heavy trench coat, smoking a cigar under a large black umbrella.
He was holding a red plastic jerrycan, pouring gasoline over the front steps of my father’s building.
“Silvio!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat.
Silvio Bellini stopped pouring. He slowly turned around, the cherry of his cigar glowing in the dark.
He looked at me, a cruel, satisfied smile spreading across his face.
“Well, well,” Silvio chuckled, tossing the empty gas can aside. “Thomas Morgan’s little girl. You’re just in time to watch your daddy’s legacy burn.”
May you like
He reached into his coat and pulled out a silver Zippo lighter. He flicked it open. The flame ignited, bright and deadly in the rain.
“But before I drop this,” Silvio said, his eyes narrowing. “Give me the rosary, Claire.”
