Chapter 7 - The Retaliation
We thought the storm had passed. We were wrong.
Three days after Vanessa’s arrest, the Moretti estate was bathed in late afternoon sunlight. The panic that had gripped the household had begun to dissipate. Mrs. Carter was humming in the pantry, the groundskeepers were sweeping the fallen leaves along the drive, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.
Luca had officially relieved me of my duties as a maid. He had offered me a position managing the estate’s historical archives and community foundation—a legitimate, highly paid role that allowed me to move my mother into a private care suite with the finest doctors in the country.
I was walking down the stone path toward the conservatory, holding a ledger of cataloged items, when the world shattered.
The sound of an automatic rifle shattered the quiet afternoon like thunder.
Glass exploded from the conservatory windows, showering the manicured lawn in crystalline shards. A black SUV barreled through the wrought-iron service gates at the rear of the property, tires screeching against the gravel.
"Down! Olivia, get down!"
It was Daniel’s voice, shouting from the terrace.
Before I could turn to run, two men in tactical gear and ski masks leaped from the vehicle. One of them charged toward me, a heavy military-grade rifle slung across his chest.
*Vanessa’s brothers.*
Her threat echoed in my head with terrifying clarity: *My brothers won't let this stand!*
I dropped the ledger and sprinted toward the side entrance of the main house, my heart hammering in my ears. But my shoes slipped on the damp grass. I stumbled, hitting the ground hard, my palms scraping against the rough stones.
A heavy boot stepped on the hem of my coat, pinning me to the earth.
A rough hand grabbed my collar, hauling me upward. The cold muzzle of a pistol pressed firmly against my temple. "Don't move, you little bitch," a gruff voice growled beneath the balaclava. "The Don’s new pet is coming with us."
"Let her go!" Daniel was running down the stone steps, firing his sidearm, but a spray of bullets from the second gunman forced him to dive behind a stone planter for cover.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought of my mother. I thought of Luca. After everything we had fought through, was this really where my story ended? Kidnapped, dragged into an abandoned warehouse, and executed to settle a mafia blood feud?
*Crack.*
The shot didn't come from Daniel’s gun. It was louder, deeper, echoing from the second-story balcony of the master suite.
The grip on my collar vanished instantly. The man holding me grunted, his eyes widening behind his mask as a red bloom spread across his tactical vest. He collapsed sideways into the flowerbed, dead before he touched the soil.
I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, looking up.
Standing on the master balcony was Luca.
He held a customized high-caliber rifle, his dark eyes ablaze with terrifying, pinpoint focus. Without pausing, he racked the bolt and fired a second time.
Fifty yards away, the second gunman—who had been scrambling back into the SUV—dropped instantly behind the open door.
The driver of the SUV hit the gas, terror overriding loyalty, and sped toward the shattered gate, leaving his fallen comrades behind. But Daniel was already up, firing three precise shots into the driver’s side tire, sending the vehicle spinning violently until it slammed into an ancient oak tree, crushed like an accordion.
Within seconds, the estate was flooded with Moretti security personnel. Alarms wailed across the grounds.
Luca didn't wait for the elevator. He sprinted down the grand staircase, bursting through the French doors of the terrace. He crossed the lawn in furious, desperate strides, tossing the rifle aside onto the grass as he reached me.
"Olivia!"
He dropped to his knees, his hands moving over my arms, my face, my shoulders, searching for wounds with frantic urgency. His hands—usually so steady, so lethal—were trembling.
"Are you hit? Did they touch you? Look at me, Olivia!"
"I'm not hit," I gasped, burying my face into his chest, clutching his shirt with both hands as violent sobs wracked my body. "I'm not hit, Luca... I'm okay."
Luca pulled me against him with crushing force, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that I could feel the erratic, thunderous beating of his heart against my cheek. He buried his face in my hair, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.
"I have you," he whispered fiercely, his voice cracking with an emotion he had spent a lifetime suppressing. "I have you. It’s over. No one will ever threaten you again. I swear it on everything I am."
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Holding me against his chest, Luca Moretti lifted me up from the grass and carried me into his home, while behind us, his men erased every trace of the violence that had dared to touch our sanctuary.
***
