Chương 7 - Blood on the Silver
The private dining hall in the subterranean level of the Moretti mansion had no windows. The walls were constructed of three-foot-thick reinforced concrete covered in mahogany paneling, designed to withstand a bomb blast. A twenty-foot oak table sat beneath antique iron chandeliers, laden with heavy silver platters, roast meats, and decanters of blood-red Barolo wine.
Seated around the table were the pillars of the Moretti syndicate: Don Salvatore at the head, looking pale and grim; Vincent Torino sitting to his right, his cold eyes tracking every movement in the room; and three senior Capos who controlled the city's docks, trucking, and gambling.
At the other end of the table sat Luca, commanding and lethal in a midnight-black suit that mirrored the velvet of Luna’s dress.
And beside him sat Luna.
Every eye at the table had been fixed on her for the past hour. The tension was so thick it dulled the taste of the rosemary-roasted lamb on her plate.
“A charming necklace, Señorita Reyes,” Capo Bellini said, slicing into a bloody piece of steak with unnecessary violence. “A Moretti family heirloom. Worn by Luca’s mother. It seems rather... heavy for a girl accustomed to carrying buckets of bleach.”
Luna didn't flinch. Under the table, Luca’s hand rested heavily on her thigh, a silent, burning anchor of support. She patted her lips with a cloth napkin, remembering Luca’s command: *Look them in the eye.*
“Weight is a matter of perspective, Capo Bellini,” Luna replied smoothly, her voice steady and melodious. “Carrying three jobs to keep my family alive was heavy. Wearing a gift from the man who honors me is remarkably light.”
A brief, sharp smirk flashed across Don Salvatore’s weathered lips before he masked it with a sip of wine. Luca’s grip on her thigh tightened approvingly.
Bellini sneered, clearly irritated by her composure. “Clever tongue. Let us hope it stays as sharp when the Russian hit squads start blowing up our distribution centers. Because make no mistake, young lady—this fairy tale is costing our families millions of dollars a day.”
“The Russians were stealing from you anyway, Bellini,” Luca cut in, his voice dropping three octaves into a lethal register. “If you spent less time looking at my fiancée’s jewelry and more time auditing your port managers, you’d know Yuri Vulov shorted your cut by twelve percent last month.”
Bellini choked on his wine, his face turning crimson. “What? That's impossible!”
“Check your books tomorrow,” Luca said coldly. “Or better yet, ask Vincent. He signed off on the manifests.”
The room went instantly dead silent.
All eyes swung toward Vincent Torino. The enforcer didn't blink. He calmly chewed his meat, swallowed, and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.
“A clerical error, Luca,” Vincent said smoothly, though his knuckles whitened against the silver fork. “Corrected this morning.”
Before Luca could push the knife in deeper, the heavy steel security doors of the dining hall blew open with a deafening *CRACK*.
The lights flickered, plunged into darkness, and the screech of emergency sirens wailed through the reinforced walls.
“Breach! East perimeter breached!” Matteo’s voice screamed over the radio coms, followed immediately by the staccato bark of automatic gunfire echoing down the subterranean corridor.
“Down!” Luca roared.
In a fraction of a second, Luca shoved Luna off her chair, throwing his entire body over hers as they crashed onto the Persian rug beneath the heavy oak table.
*Shatter!*
The iron chandeliers above were shredded by a hail of suppressed automatic fire. Splinters of wood, plaster, and crystal rained down like lethal hail. Screams erupted in Italian as the Capos scrambled for cover, drawing their concealed handguns.
“Salvatore! Get the Don!” Vincent’s voice barked through the darkness, followed by the deafening blast of his heavy-caliber pistol returning fire toward the shattered doorway.
Luna lay pinned beneath Luca’s heavy, muscular frame, the scent of gunpowder, copper, and his cologne filling her lungs. Her ears rang painfully.
“Luca!” she cried, feeling something warm and sticky drip onto her bare shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he grunted through clenched teeth, though she could feel him shuddering. He reached under his jacket, pulled a matte-black Sig Sauer 9mm from his holster, and racked the slide with one hand against the floor. “Stay under the table. Do not move. If anyone other than me reaches under here, shoot them.”
He shoved a small, lightweight snub-nosed revolver into her trembling hands, wrapping her fingers around the grip.
“Point and pull. That’s all you do,” he whispered, his green eyes glowing like a wild animal's in the strobing emergency lights.
May you like
Before she could scream his name, Luca rolled out from beneath the table, firing three rapid, deafening shots toward the corridor.
***
