Chapter 11 - The Echo of War
The gunshot cut through the salt-heavy dawn like a whip crack.
Before the sound could even bounce off the iron hulls of the cargo ships, Luca’s body moved on pure instinct. His arm hooked around Luna’s waist, violently sweeping her off her feet and slamming her down behind the reinforced steel quarter-panel of his black Maybach.
"Down!" Luca roared, his voice stripping away every shred of tenderness and replacing it with the gravel of a born warlord. "Everyone, defensive positions! Perimeter breach north-northeast!"
A split second later, the windshield of a nearby town car shattered into a glittering spray of diamonds. Capo Vitucci took the bullet straight through his shoulder. The old mobster collapsed onto the cold concrete with a choked howl, his men instantly drawing their automatic weapons and firing blindly toward the towering cranes lining the waterfront.
Luna lay flat against the asphalt, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. The heavy emerald pendant at her throat dug into her collarbone, a sharp, cold reminder of the crown she had just accepted. The hem of her silk gown was immediately soaked in oily puddles and Atlantic brine, but fear didn't paralyze her. It sharpened her senses.
She grabbed Luca’s sleeve as he leaned out, his customized Kimber 1911 already spitting fire toward the crane operator's nest three hundred yards away.
"Luca, wait!" she shouted over the cacophony of gunfire. "Look at the angle!"
Luca paused, his piercing green eyes darting down to her face. "What?"
"The muzzle flash didn't come from the crane!" Luna pointed with a trembling but steady finger toward the dark, corrugated roof of Warehouse 4. "It's the exhaust vent. When I worked the cargo manifests in the main office last year, that vent was always left open for maintenance. The sniper is using the crane's shadow as a decoy!"
Luca’s jaw clenched, a feral, terrifying grin cutting across his blood-spattered face. "My clever little sparrow."
He grabbed his radio from his belt, barking into the frequency. "Enzo! Third team, flank Warehouse Four from the rear access stairs. The shooter is at the roof vent. Bring me his head, or bring me his hands. Move!"
Across the concrete expanse, half a dozen black-clad soldiers broke off from the defensive perimeter, moving like ghosts through the morning fog toward the rusted brick warehouse.
Luca leaned back down, his massive frame shielding Luna entirely from any stray ricochets. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his leather glove cold against her burning cheek.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice thick with a desperate fury that scared her more than the gunfire. "Luna, look at me. Did anything touch you?"
"I’m whole," she breathed, placing her small palm over his knuckles. "I’m fine, Luca. But your men—Vitucci is bleeding out."
Luca glanced over his shoulder. Two soldiers were dragging the screaming capo toward an armored SUV. "Vitucci will survive. He's too stubborn to die before breakfast. But this wasn't an ordinary hit. That was a high-caliber round meant for my skull."
"Chicago?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"No," Luca hissed, his eyes turning to black ice. "Chicago doesn't shoot from the dark without sending an insult first. That was local. That was someone who sat at my father's table."
A crackle sounded over his radio. Enzo's voice came through, panting and harsh. *"Boss. The shooter swallowed a cyanide capsule before we could breach the hatch. But we checked his rig. He had a tattoo on his forearm. A crowned serpent."*
Luca’s grip on Luna tightened so hard she gasped.
"The Bellini family," Luca whispered, the words dripping with lethal poison. "Gianna’s father. He didn't take kindly to me passing over his precious daughter for my maid."
Luca stood up in one fluid, terrifying motion, pulling Luna with him. He didn't crouch. He didn't hide. He stood broad-shouldered against the burning sunrise, daring any other coward in the shadows to take another shot.
"Get in the car, Luna," he said calmly. Too calmly.
"Where are we going?" she asked, sliding into the leather interior as a bodyguard slammed the bulletproof door shut behind her.
Luca slid in beside her, racking the slide of his weapon with a brutal metallic snap.
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"To the hospital," Luca replied, staring straight ahead as the convoy tires screamed against the pavement. "To see if my father is still alive. And then... we burn the Bellini empire to the ground."
***
