THE WEDDING FLIGHT

The sound of shattering glass was deafening.

“Get down!” Marco roared, diving across the table to tackle Luca to the floor.

I didn't think. Instinct took over. I threw my body completely over Oliver, pinning the seven-year-old beneath me as heavy shards of crystal and lead rained down on us. The dining room, seconds ago a scene of high-society elegance, instantly transformed into a war zone.

Screams echoed through the room. The thirty-four guests scrambled under the long mahogany table, clutching their heads as bullets ripped through the expensive artwork and tore into the plaster walls.

“Daddy!” Oliver screamed, struggling under my weight.

“Stay down, Ollie!” I ordered, pressing his face against the thick carpet. My heart was hammering so fast it felt like it might crack my ribs.

I peeked through the legs of the overturned chairs.

Luca was on the ground, but he wasn't cowering. He had shoved Marco off him and was already reaching for the concealed weapon at his ankle. He looked completely feral, his eyes scanning the shattered windows.

“Marco! Secure the perimeter!” Luca shouted over the chaos.

Marco and two other security guards were already returning fire through the broken windows, their weapons flashing in the dim light.

“They’re in the courtyard, boss!” Marco yelled, ducking behind a heavy marble pillar as a bullet chipped the stone inches from his head.

I looked toward the center of the room.

Adrian was curled into a pathetic ball under the table, sobbing hysterically.

But Vanessa was gone.

I scanned the room frantically. The heavy double doors were still locked. Where did she go?

Then, I saw a flash of red silk near the back of the dining room. Vanessa was crawling on her hands and knees toward the private staff entrance—the door that led directly to the kitchen and the underground garage.

“She’s running!” I screamed, pointing toward the staff door.

Luca saw her. His eyes narrowed.

“Marco, hold them off! I’m getting Oliver out of here!” Luca yelled.

He stayed low, crawling rapidly across the glass-covered floor until he reached us. He didn't look like a refined mafia boss anymore; he looked like a father desperate to save his child.

He grabbed Oliver’s arm and pulled him from beneath me, wrapping him tightly in a bear hug.

“Are you hurt, buddy? Emma, are you hit?” Luca demanded, scanning us both for blood.

“We’re fine,” I breathed, shaking violently.

“Follow me,” Luca ordered. “We’re taking the service elevator to the panic room.”

We scrambled after him, keeping our heads down as another volley of bullets shattered the chandelier above us, raining tiny crystals down like deadly hail.

We reached the staff door just as Vanessa was trying to wrench it open. Her hands were shaking too badly to turn the heavy brass knob.

Luca grabbed her by the back of her red dress and threw her backward. She hit the floor hard, gasping for air.

“You’re not going anywhere, Vanessa,” Luca snarled, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door and shoved it open.

“Luca, please!” Vanessa begged, scrambling to her feet. “My father didn't mean to shoot at you! He’s just trying to extract me!”

“Your father is trying to silence everyone in this room,” Luca corrected coldly. He shoved her into the hallway. “Move.”

We spilled into the narrow, brightly lit staff hallway, leaving the chaos of the dining room behind. The heavy fire door slammed shut behind us, muffling the gunfire.

Luca didn't stop. He carried Oliver in one arm, holding his weapon in the other hand, leading us down the corridor toward the reinforced steel door of the panic room.

“Open it,” Luca ordered me, tossing me the keys.

My hands were shaking so badly I dropped the keys twice before finally jamming the heavy iron key into the lock. I twisted it, and the massive steel door clicked open.

I rushed inside, flicking on the lights. It was a windowless, concrete bunker lined with security monitors and emergency supplies.

Luca pushed Vanessa inside and followed, slamming the heavy steel door shut and throwing the internal deadbolt.

The silence inside the bunker was sudden and absolute.

Oliver buried his face in his father’s chest, crying silently. Luca stroked his son’s hair, kissing the top of his head.

“You’re safe now, Ollie,” Luca whispered. “I promise you, nothing is going to hurt you.”

I leaned against the cold concrete wall, trying to catch my breath. I looked at Vanessa. She was huddled in the corner, her expensive dress torn, mascara running down her face in ugly black tracks.

She wasn't the arrogant, cruel woman who had ordered me to take food from a child just thirty minutes ago. She was terrified.

Luca set Oliver down gently on a cot and walked over to the bank of security monitors. He flicked a switch, bringing the cameras online.

The screens flared to life, showing the estate’s exterior.

Two black SUVs were parked on the lawn, the doors thrown open. Masked men were firing at the house, pinned down by Marco’s security team.

“Your father sent a kill squad to my engagement dinner,” Luca said, his voice flat, staring at the screens.

“He had to!” Vanessa cried, hugging her knees. “Adrian confessed! If the police get him, my father goes to prison for Isabella’s murder! He’s just trying to clean up the mess!”

Luca turned slowly to face her.

“Clean up the mess?” Luca repeated. He walked toward her, his presence suffocating the small room. “Your father tampered with my wife’s brakes. He tried to put me on a doomed plane. And he tried to steal my son’s inheritance.”

He stopped inches from her.

“But there is one thing that still doesn't make sense, Vanessa.”

Vanessa looked up, her eyes wide with fear.

“What?” she whispered.

Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the flight manifest Marco had given him earlier. He held it up.

“Why was Isabella’s name on that flight manifest?” Luca demanded. “If she died two years ago, why book a ticket for a dead woman?”

Vanessa swallowed hard. She looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

“Tell me!” Luca roared, slamming his fist against the concrete wall.

Vanessa flinched violently.

“Because…” she stammered, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Because she isn't dead, Luca.”

The air was sucked from the room.

I stared at Vanessa, completely paralyzed.

Luca froze. The gun in his hand slowly lowered.

“What did you say?” Luca whispered.

“The body in the car was burned beyond recognition,” Vanessa sobbed, finally breaking under the weight of the secret. “My father paid the coroner to fake the dental records. Isabella survived the crash, Luca.”

Luca’s chest heaved. “Where is she?”

Vanessa looked up, her eyes utterly defeated.

“My father has been keeping her locked in the basement of the Bellini estate for two years. He was going to put her on that plane with you, and crash it into the ocean. He wanted to wipe the Moretti family off the map entirely.”

Luca didn't speak. He didn't move. The revelation hit him with the force of a freight train. His wife, the mother of his child, had been a prisoner in his fiancée’s home for two years.

Suddenly, a loud, heavy pounding echoed on the thick steel door of the panic room.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

We all jumped.

“Boss! Open up! It’s Marco!” a muffled voice yelled from the other side.

Luca immediately snapped out of his shock. He walked over to the door and threw the deadbolt, pulling it open.

Marco stood in the hallway, out of breath, a bloody bandage wrapped around his forearm.

“We drove them back,” Marco panted. “The police are swarming the gates. Silvio’s men retreated.”

Luca didn't care about the gunmen anymore. He looked at Marco with a terrifying, absolute resolve.

“Gather the men, Marco,” Luca ordered, checking the magazine of his weapon. “We are going to the Bellini estate right now.”

Marco frowned. “Boss, the police are here. We have to give statements.”

“I’m not giving statements,” Luca snarled, stepping past his security chief. “I’m getting my wife back.”

But as Luca turned to leave, a small voice called out from the corner of the room.

“Daddy, wait.”

We all turned.

Oliver was standing by the cot. He was holding something in his small hands. It was the blue leather folder Vanessa had forced him to sign.

He opened it, completely ignoring the guardianship documents, and pulled out a small, folded photograph tucked into the back pocket.

“Mommy told me a secret before she went away,” Oliver whispered, holding the picture out to his father. “She said if bad people ever came, I had to give this to you.”

Luca walked over and took the photograph.

I looked over his shoulder.

It wasn't a picture of Isabella.

It was a photograph of a baby. A newborn, wrapped in a pink blanket, sleeping soundly in a hospital crib.

But it was the date stamped on the bottom of the photo that made Luca’s breath catch.

It was dated exactly six months ago.