Chapter 5 - THE BLEEDING DON
The deafening roar of the assault rifle shattered the silence of the wine cellar, the muzzle flashes strobing like lightning in the dim, subterranean room.
“No!” Luca screamed.
He didn’t think. He simply reacted. Luca dove across the stone floor, tackling his father. But he was a fraction of a second too late. Two of the heavy-caliber bullets slammed into Salvatore’s chest and shoulder, throwing the old Don backward into the massive oak wine casks.
Wood splintered. Deep red vintage wine exploded outward, raining down on the stone floor, mixing instantly with the dark crimson pooling beneath Salvatore’s body.
Luca rolled, bringing his pistol up, and fired twice. His shots were rushed but accurate. The first bullet took Marco in the knee, shattering the joint. The second grazed his neck.
Marco screamed, dropping his assault rifle, and fell heavily behind the cover of the wine racks.
“Marco, I swear to God I will skin you alive!” Luca roared, keeping his gun trained on the shadows where the traitor had fallen.
“Luca…”
The voice was a wet, ragged gasp.
Luca dropped to his knees beside his father. Salvatore was clutching his chest, blood bubbling past his lips. His elegant pinstripe suit was ruined, soaked in a horrifying mixture of wine and blood.
“Dad. Hold on. Just hold on,” Luca pleaded, his hands frantically pressing against the gunshot wounds, trying to stem the massive flow of blood. The anger and betrayal he had felt moments ago vanished, replaced by the primal, terrifying realization that his father was dying in his arms.
Elena rushed over, ripping her waitress apron into long strips. She fell to her knees beside Luca, her hands shaking but her movements purposeful. She packed the fabric tightly against Salvatore’s shoulder wound.
“We have to put pressure on his chest,” Elena ordered, her voice trembling but authoritative.
Salvatore weakly grabbed Luca’s wrist. His grip was shockingly cold.
“Luca, listen to me,” Salvatore wheezed, blood staining his teeth. “You have to… you have to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Luca shouted, tears blurring his vision. “Who paid Marco? Why did my own guard betray me? Tell me!”
Salvatore’s eyes drifted toward Elena. He reached out with a trembling, bloodstained hand and gently touched her cheek. Elena froze, staring at the dying mob boss in shock.
“You have her eyes,” Salvatore whispered to Elena, a heartbreaking smile crossing his face. “Maria’s eyes.”
Luca stopped breathing. He stared at his father, then looked up at Elena.
Elena’s dark, expressive eyes. The slope of her jaw. The stubborn, fierce courage she had shown all night.
“What are you saying?” Luca demanded, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper.
“The letters…” Salvatore coughed, fighting through the agonizing pain in his chest. “Thomas wasn’t just her lover. He was… he was her salvation. She was pregnant when she died, Luca.”
Elena stumbled backward, dropping the bloody cloth. “No. No, that’s impossible. My father told me my mother died in childbirth.”
“Thomas lied to protect you,” Salvatore gasped, looking at Elena with deep sorrow. “You weren’t born in a hospital. You were born in the shadows. Thomas hid you. He changed your name. He kept you away from this cursed family to save your life.”
The cellar seemed to spin around Luca.
Elena wasn’t just Thomas Bellini’s daughter. She was Maria’s daughter.
She was Luca’s half-sister.
Elena pressed her hands to her mouth, tears spilling over her cheeks as the truth shattered her entire reality. The man she thought was a simple driver was a mafia assassin. The woman she thought died in childbirth was murdered in a mob hit.
“If Thomas took her and hid her…” Luca said, his mind racing to put the pieces together. “Then Thomas didn’t kill my mother. And you didn’t kill her.”
“We were trying to save her,” Salvatore wept, a single tear cutting through the blood on his face. “The night she was murdered… I found out about the affair. I went to the bedroom to confront her. But when I got there, I found her bleeding on the floor. Thomas was kneeling over her, crying. He didn’t shoot her, Luca. He arrived too late.”
“Who shot her?!” Luca demanded, grabbing his father’s lapels. “If you didn’t do it, and Thomas didn’t do it, who did? Who ordered my guards to kill us tonight?!”
Before Salvatore could answer, a sickening, wet cough echoed from the shadows behind the wine racks.
Marco, the traitorous guard, was dragging his shattered leg across the floor, leaning heavily against a stone pillar. He was bleeding profusely from his neck, his face pale and sweating, but he was holding a small, silver revolver.
“Your uncle sends his regards, boss,” Marco sneered, raising the revolver toward Luca’s head.
Luca’s blood ran cold.
Uncle Vincenzo.
Vincenzo Moretti. Salvatore’s younger brother. The charming, diplomatic underboss of the family who always smoothed over their political problems. The man who had bought Luca his first car. The man who had stood beside Salvatore at Maria’s funeral, weeping uncontrollably.
“Vincenzo?” Luca breathed in absolute disbelief.
“Vincenzo runs the human trafficking ports,” Salvatore choked out, his voice fading rapidly. “Your mother… she found out. She was gathering evidence to take him down to the feds. That’s why she was running away with Thomas. Vincenzo found out… and he silenced her.”
Marco laughed a wet, ugly laugh. “And now, he’s silencing the rest of you. Vincenzo has already taken control of the mansion upstairs. By tomorrow morning, he’ll tell the Commission that Thomas Bellini’s daughter infiltrated the house, killed the Don, and died in the fire with you.”
Marco steadied the revolver, aiming it directly at Elena’s back.
“Say hi to your mother for us,” Marco hissed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
BANG.
The gunshot deafened the room.
Elena screamed, throwing her arms over her head.
But Marco didn’t fire.
The traitor’s eyes rolled back in his head. A perfect, dark red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He collapsed forward, dead before he hit the stone floor.
Luca hadn’t fired. His gun was still aimed at his father’s chest.
Luca and Elena slowly turned their heads toward the entrance of the wine cellar.
Standing on the bottom step of the staircase, holding a smoking, suppressed sniper rifle, was an older man. His hair was completely gray, and a long, jagged scar ran down the left side of his face. He wore a heavy leather trench coat, dripping with rain from the outside storm.
Elena let out a choking gasp. She scrambled to her feet, staring at the man as if she had seen a ghost.
“Dad?” Elena whispered, her voice breaking.
Thomas Bellini lowered his rifle. He looked at the daughter he had hidden for fourteen years, his hardened, scarred face softening with overwhelming love.
“I’m sorry it took me so long, El,” Thomas said softly. He looked past her, meeting Luca’s shocked gaze, and then looked down at the dying Don on the floor.
“Hello, Salvatore,” Thomas said, his voice heavy with years of regret.
May you like
“You came back,” Salvatore whispered, a faint, bloody smile touching his lips. “You kept her safe.”
“I kept her safe,” Thomas nodded. He turned to Luca, his eyes hardening into steel. “Grab the microfilm from the rosary, kid. Vincenzo is coming down those stairs in three minutes, and we have a war to win.”
