Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Warehouse
The trap was sprung at 2:00 AM on Thursday at the old rail yards near the industrial harbor.
The informant had whispered to Tony that Julian Rossi—the disgraced former underboss who had tried to broker the gala poisoning—was hiding out in a derelict grain silo near the docks, waiting to catch a freighter out of the country.
It was a lie.
A beautifully constructed, dead-eyed lie designed to pull Luca away from the estate.
Luca’s convoy hit the rail yards with four armored SUVs, sweeping the grain silo only to find it completely empty save for a single ringing burner phone resting on an upturned crate.
Luca picked it up on the second ring.
“Romano,” he barked.
A smooth, mocking laugh echoed through the speaker. “Smart enough to survive the gala, Luca. But stupid enough to leave your castle unguarded.”
Luca’s blood ran cold. “Rossi.”
“I don't care about the board anymore,” Rossi sneered over the line. “I want the woman and the brat who humiliated me in front of the whole city. My boys are scaling the east wall of your precious estate right now. By the time you drive back from the harbor, there won't be anything left of them to bury.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
“Turn the cars around!” Luca roared, slamming his fist against the dashboard so hard the reinforced glass cracked. “All units, full speed back to the estate! Now!”
The convoy tore rubber across the wet asphalt, sirens wailing as they cut through the sleeping city like a streak of lightning. But the estate was twenty-five minutes away.
Twenty-five minutes. An eternity when wolves were at the door.
Back at the Romano estate, the dead quiet of the night was shattered by the sound of glass breaking on the second-floor terrace.
Ava bolted upright in her bed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a sledgehammer. Beside her, Mila woke up with a sharp gasp, grabbing the edge of her pillow.
“Mom?” Mila whispered, wide-eyed. “What’s that noise?”
“Stay in bed,” Ava commanded, her voice fierce as she slid out from under the covers. She didn't have a weapon, but her eyes locked on the heavy brass-plated fireplace poker resting near the hearth.
Before she could reach it, the bedroom door splintered inward with a deafening crash.
Two masked men in black tactical gear stepped into the room, their submachine guns raised, sweeping the dark space with laser sights.
“Found them,” one barked into his shoulder mic.
Ava didn't hesitate. She lunged for the heavy oak nightstand, grabbing a ceramic lamp and hurling it directly at the lead intruder’s head. The lamp shattered against his tactical helmet, buying her a fraction of a second.
“Run, Mila!” Ava screamed, shoving her daughter toward the panic room built into the back of the walk-in closet.
Mila bolted, but the second intruder moved faster. He lunged across the room, grabbing Mila by the back of her shirt and hauling her off her feet.
“Got the brat!” the man shouted. “Move, move, move! Boss wants them both alive!”
“Let her go!” Ava shrieked, launching herself at the man like a wildcat. She slammed her fists into his back, clawing at his tactical vest, fighting with the savage, blinding fury of a mother whose child had been stolen.
The man backhanded her across the face.
Ava crashed hard against the hardwood floor, her vision blurring, blood trickling from the corner of her split lip.
Through the haze of pain, she saw Mila crying out, her small hands reaching toward her.
“Mom!”
“Don't touch her!” a voice roared from the shattered doorway.
The intruders spun around just as Luca Romano stepped into the room.
He hadn't waited for the convoy. He had taken a chopper from the harbor, dropping down onto the estate’s lawn like an avenging angel, bypassing the gates entirely. He held a Sig Sauer pistol in each hand, his eyes burning with a cold, murderous wrath that made the masked mercenaries look like children playing soldier.
“Drop her,” Luca commanded, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated death.
The man holding Mila panicked, bringing his submachine gun up—
Bang. Bang.
Two shots echoed through the bedroom with deafening precision. Both intruders dropped instantly, lifeless before they hit the floor.
The room fell dead silent, save for the ringing of the shots and the sound of Mila sobbing.
Luca dropped his pistols to the floor, sprinting across the room. He fell to his knees beside Mila, gently taking her from the dead man’s grip and pulling her into his arms.
“You’re safe,” Luca breathed, pressing his face against her dark hair, his voice cracking for the first time in his life. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
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Ava pushed herself up off the floor, blood on her chin, her hands trembling as she crawled toward them.
Luca looked up, seeing her bruised face. He reached out with one free hand, catching her by the arm and pulling both of them against his chest in a desperate, crushing embrace that sealed the three of them together in the wreckage of the storm.
