Chapter 5 - The Retribution
The peace of the autumn workshop was shattered on a Tuesday night.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when the sirens of the estate’s perimeter security wailed through the house. The piercing screech jolted me awake from a deep sleep in my third-floor bedroom.
Before I could reach my robe, the heavy oak door of my room swung open. Luca stood in the threshold, fully dressed in black tactical gear, an automatic firearm holstered at his chest.
“Claire. Get to the safe room. Now.”
The urgency in his voice made my blood run cold. “Where is Matteo?”
“He’s already inside the vault in the basement with Mrs. Gable,” Luca said, grabbing my arm and pulling me swiftly into the hallway. “Julian Bellini breached the outer gate with two delivery trucks. They cut the main power grid.”
The hallway was illuminated only by the red glow of emergency battery lights. Distant pops—sharp and rhythmic like firecrackers—echoed from the front grounds. Gunfire.
“He’s insane,” I breathed, jogging beside Luca as we navigated the back stairwell. “He’s attacking your home?”
“He’s bankrupt,” Luca said grimly. “The Commission rejected his leadership yesterday after Marco delivered the dock evidence. Julian knows he’s finished. He came here for blood.”
We reached the basement level—a reinforced subterranean area that Antonio Moretti had built during the violent syndicate wars of the 1980s. A heavy steel bank-vault door stood open, revealing a brightly lit, comfortable room lined with emergency supplies, communication monitors, and couches.
Matteo was sitting on the sofa, clutching the burned wooden box to his chest, his face pale with terror. When he saw me, he jumped to his feet.
“Claire!”
I ran inside, pulling the boy into my arms. He was shaking violently. “It’s okay, Matteo. We’re safe down here.”
Luca stood in the doorway of the vault. He reached down and checked the magazine of his weapon, his expression cold, lethal, and completely stripped of mercy.
“Luca, please,” I said, turning to him with terror in my heart. “Stay down here. The vault is impenetrable. The police will arrive!”
Luca looked at me, his eyes dark with the ancient fury of a protector.
“The police won't enter this estate tonight, Claire. This is Moretti land. Julian Bellini brought fire to my father’s house twice. He won't get a third chance.”
He stepped forward, reaching out with a gloved hand to cup the back of my neck. In front of Mrs. Gable and Matteo, he pulled me toward him and pressed his lips fiercely against mine.
The kiss was desperate, raw, and tasted of adrenaline and promise.
“Keep the door sealed until Marco enters with the code,” Luca whispered against my lips. “If anything happens to me, the safe in the study belongs to you and Matteo. Everything I have is yours.”
“Don't talk like that!” I cried, tears spilling over my lashes. “Come back to us!”
Luca gave a single, resolute nod. He backed out of the vault, punched the emergency lockdown sequence on the exterior keypad, and the ten-ton steel door swung shut with a deafening hydraulic hiss.
The monitors on the wall flickered to life, showing black-and-white feeds of the estate’s grounds.
On the screen, chaos unfolded.
Three black SUVs were burning near the fountain. Julian Bellini’s men—nearly a dozen armed mercenaries—were advancing across the lawn toward the main terrace. But they were walking into an ambush.
From the tree lines and the carriage house, Luca’s men emerged. They were disciplined, coordinated, and fighting for their home. At the center of the formation was Luca Moretti.
I watched with my heart in my throat as Luca moved with terrifying efficiency. He was not a man hiding behind guards; he was leading from the front. When two gunmen attempted to flank the rear terrace, Luca intercepted them, neutralizing the threat with ruthless precision.
Then, the camera feed shifted to the detached garage.
My stomach dropped.
A figure in a dark trench coat was running toward the carriage house, carrying a red plastic container.
*Vanessa.*
While Julian was staging a suicidal assault on the main house, Vanessa had slipped through the service alley, determined to finish what she had started. She was going to burn the workshop to the ground.
“No!” Matteo screamed, pointing at the monitor. “She’s going to burn Grandpa’s bench!”
On the screen, Luca noticed the motion near the carriage house. He broke into a sprint across the lawn, heedless of the crossfire behind him.
Vanessa kicked the timber door open and disappeared inside the workshop. Seconds later, a bright flare of yellow light illuminated the interior windows. Fire.
Luca reached the timber doors, plunging straight into the smoke.
For two agonizing minutes, the camera showed only smoke pouring from the open doors of the carriage house. I clutched Matteo against my chest, praying silently, my fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt.
Then, the timber doors blew outward.
Luca emerged from the smoke, carrying a limp figure over his shoulder. He threw the body onto the wet grass outside—it was Vanessa, coughing violently and clutching her blistered hands.
Behind him, two of Luca’s men arrived with chemical fire extinguishers, disappearing into the carriage house to smother the flames before they could take hold.
On the lawn, Julian Bellini was thrown to the ground by Marco, his weapons stripped, his hands pinned behind his back by zip ties.
The battle of the Moretti estate was over. It had lasted less than twelve minutes.
On the monitor, Luca stood in the rain, drenched in water and soot, his chest heaving. He looked up directly into the security camera mounted above the terrace, as if he could see through the lens straight into the vault.
He lifted his hand, flashing three fingers—the signal that all was clear.
Matteo let out a joyful sob, burying his face in my neck.
Ten minutes later, the hydraulic hiss of the vault echoed through the room. The steel door swung open.
Luca stood there. His face was streaked with soot, his knuckles bloody, and his jacket scorched.
He didn't look at the guards. He didn't look at Mrs. Gable.
He walked straight across the concrete floor, dropped to his knees in front of the sofa, and pulled Matteo and me into a crushing, unbreakable embrace.
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“It’s over,” Luca whispered, his voice trembling against my hair as we held each other in the dim light of the vault. “The fire is out. It’s over.”
***
