Chapter 8 - Ghosts of the Past
"Clara, explain. Now," Rico ordered, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his gun as he stood protectively between her and the hallway.
"I didn't think he'd find me here," Clara stammered, holding a frightened Leo tightly against her chest. The boy whimpered, sensing the sudden spike of danger in the room. "I thought... I thought New York was big enough."
"Who?" Rico demanded, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Before Clara could answer, the heavy double doors of the penthouse foyer blew inward with a deafening crash. Splintered wood and reinforced steel bolts flew across the marble floor.
Three armed men in black tactical gear poured into the foyer, their automatic rifles raised.
Rico didn't hesitate. He pivoted, dropped to one knee, and fired two precise shots. The lead intruder dropped instantly, a clean bullet wound through his tactical vest.
"Dante! Fire on my mark!" Rico roared.
From the hallway, Dante opened up with a submachine gun, pinning the remaining two intruders behind the marble pillars of the entryway. Gunfire shredded the expensive imported wallpaper and shattered crystal vases into a million glittering shards.
Clara clutched Leo’s head against her shoulder, shielding him from the deafening noise.
"Get down the corridor to the panic room!" Rico yelled over the gunfire, firing another round down the hall. "Clara, move!"
"I'm not leaving you!" she screamed back.
A tall man in an expensive gray suit stepped out from behind the tactical team in the foyer. He wasn't wearing a mask. He held a silenced pistol in his hand, a cold, predatory smile slicing across his handsome, ruthless face.
"Well, well, well," Vincent Russo purred, his voice cutting through the ringing gunfire. "Running away from home, little sister? And hiding behind a mafia capo, no less."
Rico froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting to Clara. "Sister?"
Clara’s face drained of all color. She stared at the man in the gray suit with pure, unadulterated terror. "Vincent..."
Vincent Russo was the ruthless underboss of the Chicago-based Russo crime syndicate—a rival family that had been waging a quiet shadow war against the Morettis for years.
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"You didn't tell your new boyfriend who you really are, did you, Clara?" Vincent mocked, taking a slow step forward into the penthouse. "Clara Russo. Daughter of Don Carmine Russo. The heiress to the Chicago syndicate who tried to run away from her wedding day because she didn't want to marry a mob boss."
Rico slowly turned his head to look at Clara. The ice in his eyes shattered, replaced by a dark, dangerous shock. "You're a Russo?"
