Chapter 9 - THE TRAP AT THE ALTAR
A dozen armed men stepped out from behind the stone pillars of the chapel, their rifles trained directly on us.
Stepping through the center aisle was Marco Maranzano—a heavy-set man in his late fifties with cold, snake-like eyes, wearing a dark wool coat and carrying a silver-handled cane.
Beside him stood Anthony Moretti, my former manager at The Cathedral, holding a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills in his hand.
"Anthony..." I gasped, my blood running cold. "It was you."
"Sorry, Clara," Anthony stammered, looking away in shame. "Maranzano offered me two million dollars for information on your mother's past. I couldn't pass that up."
"You sold out a poor girl working for tips, you pathetic dog," Salvo snarled, stepping in front of me, his gun raised directly at Maranzano's chest.
"Put the gun down, Salvo," Maranzano chuckled, his voice rasping like sandpaper. "You're outnumbered twelve to three. Bernardo is already dead outside."
My heart sank. Poor Bernardo.
"You took my father's life, Marco," Salvo said, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register that sent chills through the room. "You destroyed this girl's family. You think you walk out of this chapel alive?"
"I walk out with that ledger, Salvo," Maranzano sneered. "And then I take Manhattan for myself."
"You made one mistake, Marco," I said, stepping out from behind Salvo, holding my mother's letter tightly in my hand.
Maranzano scoffed. "And what mistake is that, little waitress?"
"My mother wasn't just an accountant," I said, my voice rising in clear, pristine Sicilian that reverberated off the ancient stone walls. "She was a Valenti. And this chapel belongs to my family."
I reached behind the marble altar and slammed my hand down on a raised iron lever—a hidden mechanism my mother had detailed in her letter.
Instantly, two heavy stone slabs plummeted from the arched ceiling, smashing down with catastrophic force directly onto the rear archway, blocking the main entrance and trapping Maranzano’s rear guards beneath tons of ancient stone!
"Fire!" Maranzano roared in panic.
Gunfire erupted inside the confined space!
Salvo tackled Maranzano to the ground as muzzle flashes illuminated the dusty darkness. I dove behind the marble altar, pulling out a small snub-nosed revolver Salvo had hidden in my purse before we left the jet.
A gunman charged toward my position. I didn't hesitate—I raised the gun with both hands and fired twice, striking him in the chest. He dropped to the stone floor instantly.
Across the chapel, Salvo was a whirlwind of lethal precision. He fired three rapid shots, taking down two guards, before charging Maranzano.
The two mob bosses crashed against the altar, fighting savagely for control of a fallen blade.
Maranzano managed to pin Salvo against the stone floor, pressing the cold steel of a dagger against Salvo's throat. "Die like your father, Romano!"
"Not today!" I screamed.
I ran forward and slammed the heavy silver-handled cane across the back of Maranzano’s head with all the strength in my body.
Maranzano staggered backward, dazed.
Salvo didn't waste the second I bought him. He rolled over, drew his sidearm from his ankle holster, and fired a single, decisive shot through Maranzano's heart.
The king of the Maranzano empire collapsed onto the chapel floor, his dark eyes staring blankly at the ruined frescoes above.
The remaining bodyguards threw down their weapons and fled through the side windows, terrified of the carnage.
Silence descended upon the chapel, broken only by the sound of our heavy breathing and the settling dust.
Salvo stood up slowly, wiping blood from his lip. He looked at Maranzano’s body, then turned to me, his eyes wide with awe and raw emotion.
I dropped the silver cane, my entire body shaking as the adrenaline washed away.
May you like
Salvo walked over, pulled me into his arms, and held me so tight I could barely breathe.
"You saved my life, Clara," he whispered into my hair, his body trembling against mine. "Mia regina. My queen."
