Chapter 5 - Blood and Trust
“Pack a single bag for Mia,” I told Elena, my voice leaving zero room for hesitation. “Warm clothes, comfortable shoes. Nothing else.”
Elena moved with mechanical precision, fear sharpening her instincts rather than paralyzing her. Within four minutes, she was back in the private study, carrying a small canvas duffel bag and holding Mia tightly against her hip. Mia, sensing the tension, had buried her face in Elena’s neck, clutching her one-eared rabbit tightly to her chest.
Daniel burst into the office, his charcoal coat spattered with road grime, a Glock 17 holstered securely at his chest. Behind him stood four of our most trusted tactical guards, armed with submachine guns and tactical plate carriers.
“Perimeter sensors tripped at the south gate thirty seconds ago,” Daniel reported rapidly. “Three black SUVs just blew through the private access road. They didn't come to negotiate, Luca. They’re running full blackout gear.”
“How did they bypass the outer cameras?” I asked, opening the hidden gun vault concealed behind the oil painting of my grandfather.
“They didn't bypass them,” Daniel replied grimly. “They used high-caliber rifles to shoot out the power relays down at the main road. The backup generator kicked in, but the gate motors are dead. They rammed the iron gates with a modified truck.”
Elena let out a stifled gasp.
I pulled out a customized Kimber 1911 .45 caliber, checked the magazine with a practiced slide-check, and racked the slide back with a sharp, lethal metallic clack. I holstered it beneath my jacket, then grabbed two spare magazines and slid them into my breast pocket.
“Daniel, take three men and hold the main foyer staircase,” I commanded. “Do not let them reach the second floor. Tony has already secured the basement storm cellar with the kitchen staff.”
“What about you, Boss?” Daniel asked, unholstering his weapon.
“I’m taking Elena and Mia through the sub-level gallery to the panic room behind the wine vault.”
“Luca,” Daniel said, his voice raw with sudden emotion. “I’m sorry about this afternoon. If I had brought Marcus in earlier—”
“Save it for the debrief,” I cut him off, clamping a hand over his broad shoulder. “Keep your head down and aim for center mass. Move.”
The heavy crack of automatic gunfire erupted from the front gardens, shattering the night silence. The distinctive thump-thump of suppressed carbines echoed through the granite hallways of the estate.
Mia began to cry, her tiny body trembling violently.
“Hey,” I whispered, stepping up to Elena and placing my hand gently against Mia’s back. “Look at me, Boss Mia.”
The little girl pulled her tear-stained face away from her mother’s collar, her wide blue eyes terrified.
“Nobody hurts you while I’m here,” I said, keeping my gaze locked with hers, completely steady, completely calm. “Remember the rule? I’m the boss’s bodyguard tonight. Nobody gets past Uncle Luca.”
She sniveled, wiping her nose with the rabbit’s ear. “Promise?”
“I swear on my life.”
I turned to Elena. Her face was pale, but her eyes held a fierce, unyielding resolve. “Stay two steps behind me. If I tell you to run, you don't look back. Understand?”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said, her voice shaking but fiercely stubborn.
“Elena—”
“You paid sixty thousand dollars for my freedom, Luca Moretti!” she whispered fiercely, the formal 'Mr.' finally abandoned in the crucible of violence. “You protected my child when your own men wanted to throw us away. I’m not running like a coward while you bleed for us.”
A strange, electric jolt shot through my chest. For fifteen years, people had served me out of fear, respect, or greed. Nobody had ever offered to bleed alongside me simply because they cared.
“Let’s move,” I said.
We slipped out the side door of the study into the private residential gallery. The estate was vast, designed in the 1920s by an Italian architect who valued secret escape routes as much as marble arches.
Below us, the sound of splintering wood and continuous gunfire tore through the main hall. Daniel and his men were holding the grand staircase, their heavy return fire suppressing the intruders, but the sheer volume of muzzle flashes indicated Vane had brought an army.
We reached the heavy reinforced door leading down to the private cellars. I keyed the electronic pad. The green light illuminated with a soft chirp.
Suddenly, a shadow lunged from the adjacent corridor.
A mercenary clad in black tactical gear and a ballistic helmet rounded the corner, raising an MPX submachine gun directly toward Elena and Mia.
Time dilated to a crawl.
I shoved Elena violently behind the marble pillar, drew my Kimber, and fired three rounds in rapid, rhythmic succession.
*Crack. Crack. Crack.*
Two rounds struck the man’s center chest plate, halting his forward momentum, while the third caught him under the chin, severing the brainstem. He collapsed to the polished floor like a sack of wet cement, his weapon skittering away into the shadows.
Mia screamed, but Elena muffled the sound against her chest, her back pressed against the cold stone.
“Clear!” I hissed, grabbing Elena’s arm and dragging her through the reinforced doorway into the dark descending staircase. I slammed the door shut and engaged the manual steel drop-bars.
The heavy thud of the steel deadbolts falling into place sealed us in the quiet underground. The gunfire from above became a muffled, distant vibration, rattling the wine racks lining the long stone corridor.
Elena sank to the bottom step, gasping for air, her arms wrapped around Mia like an iron vice. She looked down at the blood spattered on the hem of my trousers.
“You’re hit,” she whispered in horror.
I looked down. A hot, searing graze burned along my left thigh where a ricochet had torn through my trousers. “It’s a scratch. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter!” she cried, setting Mia down on the step and frantically tearing a strip of linen from the hem of her green dress. She dropped to her knees on the cold cellar floor, wrapping the fabric tightly around my thigh, her hands trembling but deft. “Everything matters when it comes to you.”
I looked down at her bent head, the soft curve of her neck, the fierce devotion with which she tended to a wound suffered in her defense.
I reached down, my hand gently catching her chin, lifting her face so her eyes met mine.
“We’re getting out of this, Elena,” I said softly. “You, Mia, and me. Together.”
Her breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, the violence upstairs ceased to exist. All that remained was the quiet heat between us in the cold dark of the earth.
May you like
Then, a heavy explosive charge detonated against the reinforced steel door at the top of the stairs, blowing the lock housing across the landing in a shower of sparks.
***
