Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs Shut
"Quiet, old woman," one of the thugs muttered, shoving my mother roughly against the stone pillar. She let out a sharp gasp of pain, her knees buckling beneath her before she managed to catch herself against the damp masonry.
"Don't touch her!" I screamed, thrashing wildly against the arm wrapped around my neck, but the guard holding me was like a hydraulic press. The cold barrel of his gun dug deeper into the soft flesh of my throat, a silent reminder of how fragile my life really was.
Don Marco Bellini strolled closer, his expression a mask of cold, calculated cruelty. He looked at my mother, then back at me, a sickening smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"You see, Chloe," Marco said smoothly, as if we were discussing the weather over afternoon tea. "The Costa family has run this city like a slaughterhouse for half a century. They think they own the police, the politicians, and the ports. But empires built on lies always have a crack in the foundation. And Elena Costa—the woman your mother protected, the woman Dante tried to erase from history—is the key to destroying them from the inside out."
"She isn't a weapon," I choked out, tears hot and blinding streaming down my cheeks. "She's an old woman. Let her go. Take me instead. Do whatever you want with me, just let her go!"
Marco laughed, a sharp, barking sound that echoed off the vaulted arches. "Oh, my dear girl. We are going to take both of you. You see, when Luciano walks into this cathedral—and he will walk into this cathedral, because our friend here sent him a very polite invitation just five minutes ago—he's going to have to make a choice."
My blood ran instantly cold. "What are you talking about?"
"He can save his newly claimed bride," Marco whispered, leaning in close so his breath brushed my ear, "or he can save his real mother. But he can't save both."
The weight of the betrayal crashed down on me with suffocating force. This wasn't just a kidnapping. It was an execution trap designed to force Luciano to choose between his past and his future, destroying his authority over the syndicate either way. If he saved me, he proved he cared more for a fake wife than his own flesh and blood, destroying his credibility with the capos. If he saved his mother, he left me to die, proving his weakness.
Before I could scream another warning, the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the cathedral exploded inward with a deafening crash.
Splintered oak and iron flew in all directions as blinding headlights from three black SUVs illuminated the central aisle in a wash of stark white glare. Figures poured through the entrance like a tidal wave of death—men in tailored black suits, carrying automatic weapons with suppressors already locked in place.
At the front of the formation walked Luciano Costa.
He didn't look like the calm, composed executive who managed portfolios and signed ledgers. He looked like an angel of death. His dark overcoat billowed behind him in the cold draft, his eyes locked entirely on Marco Bellini with a murderous rage so intense it seemed to suck the heat right out of the air.
"Marco," Luciano's voice cut through the cavernous space like a razor blade, devoid of any warmth or hesitation. "Let them go. Now."
May you like
Marco didn't even flinch. He simply smiled, stepped directly behind me, and clicked the safety of his pistol off with a sharp, metallic clack.
"Welcome to the family reunion, Luciano," Marco called out, pressing the barrel firmly against my temple. "Drop your weapon, or the girl gets her brains painted across the altar."
