Chapter 8 - The Last Stranglehold
Two days before their planned return to Chicago, the peaceful haven in Wisconsin was hit by one final, desperate shadow of the past.
It was ten o'clock in the morning.
Lorenzo was down at the boat dock with Mateo, reviewing security logs for the upcoming wedding ceremony they were planning in the spring. Beatrice was inside the lodge preparing lunch, while Leo and Mia were playing in the snow-covered front yard under the watch of two guards.
Suddenly, a loud screech of tires echoed down the long, winding driveway.
A black delivery van smashed through the wooden security gate at the edge of the property.
"BOSS!" Mateo yelled, drawing his sidearm as he sprinted toward the driveway.
Before Lorenzo could reach the front lawn, four armed men in plain clothes leapt out of the van.
Standing at the rear of the van was Isabella Rossi.
Her face was twisted with manic, unhinged rage. She held a silver pistol in her hand, her expensive fur coat splattered with snow.
"WHERE IS SHE?!" Isabella shrieked, her eyes darting frantically around the property. "WHERE IS THE MAID WHO STOLE MY LIFE?!"
The two Moretti guards raised their weapons, but Isabella’s gunmen opened fire, forcing the guards to dive behind snowbanks for cover.
Isabella spotted Leo and Mia standing near the porch, frozen in terror.
"You!" Isabella screamed, stepping toward the children, raising her pistol. "You're his dirty little bastard brats!"
"LEO! MIA! RUN!" Beatrice screamed from the front porch, bursting through the door.
Beatrice didn't hesitate. She didn't look for cover. She sprinted down the porch steps, throwing her body directly between Isabella’s gun and her children.
BANG!
Isabella fired a round. The bullet clipped Beatrice’s shoulder, tearing through her jacket, but Beatrice didn't stop. She tackled Isabella into the deep snow with the terrifying force of a mother defending her young.
They crashed into the snowbank, the pistol flying from Isabella’s hand.
Beatrice pinned Isabella down, grabbing her by the collar of her fur coat, her face inches from the pampered mob heiress.
"You touch my children," Beatrice growled, her voice a terrifying, feral rasp, "and I will tear your throat out with my bare hands!"
BANG! BANG!
Behind them, Lorenzo arrived like an unstoppable storm.
He fired two precise shots, taking down Isabella’s two gunmen instantly. Mateo tackled the third mercenary, slamming him into the side of the van and disarming him in seconds.
The shootout was over in less than twenty seconds.
Lorenzo sprinted over to where Beatrice was kneeling in the snow over Isabella.
Isabella was weeping hysterically, her expensive clothes soaked in slush, her face bruised and terrified. "Don't kill me! Lorenzo, please! My father forced me—"
"Get her out of my sight," Lorenzo ordered, his voice devoid of any human emotion as he looked down at Isabella. "Deliver her to Victor Rossi in Philadelphia. Tell him if his daughter ever sets foot in Illinois or Wisconsin again, I will wipe his family off the map."
"Understood, Don Lorenzo!" Mateo barked, hauling Isabella up by her arms and dragging her toward a security vehicle.
Lorenzo dropped to his knees in the snow beside Beatrice. He saw the dark blood soaking the shoulder of her coat.
"Bea! You're hit!" Lorenzo gasped, his hands shaking as he examined the wound.
"It’s just a graze," Beatrice panted, leaning against his chest as the adrenaline began to fade. "Is... are the kids okay?"
Lorenzo looked toward the porch. Leo and Mia were standing behind the timber pillars, wide-eyed, but completely unharmed.
"They're safe," Lorenzo wept, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her wet hair. "They're safe because of you. You saved them, Bea."
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Beatrice looked up at him, a tired, triumphant smile breaking across her bloody lips.
"We save each other, Lorenzo," she whispered, leaning her head against his heart. "That’s what we do."
