Chapter 8 - THE TRUTH IN BLACK AND WHITE
"Stay down!" Alessandro bellowed, shoving me behind the reinforced mahogany desk near the fireplace.
In a single, fluid motion, he reached beneath his jacket and pulled a sleek black semi-automatic pistol from his holster. He racked the slide with practiced lethality, his eyes instantly transforming from conflicted lover to apex predator.
The double doors of the suite burst open.
Matteo rushed inside, his shoulder stained with dark crimson blood, his tactical weapon drawn. "Boss! It’s an internal breach! Marco’s loyalists took out the gate guards. He’s brought in Moretti mercenaries through the sea docks!"
"Where is Marco?" Alessandro demanded, his voice chillingly calm amidst the chaos.
"He’s heading for the vault archives to purge the old records," Matteo coughed, grimacing in pain. "He knows the girl is Thomas Vance’s daughter. He realized the paper trail she holds can destroy his claim to the Syndicate!"
Alessandro turned his gaze back to me. His eyes were blazing. "The locket. Where is it?"
"Safety deposit box 412 at First Illinois Bank on 5th Street," I yelled over the sound of automatic rifle fire echoing from the floor below. "The key is hidden in the lining of my purse!"
Alessandro looked at Matteo. "Get Elizabeth to the panic room beneath the wine cellar. Take two men you trust with your life. If a single scratch appears on her, don't bother asking for mercy."
"Alessandro, wait!" I screamed as he moved toward the door.
He stopped, turning back. For a brief second, the merciless mob boss vanished, and the man who had held me through the darkest night of my life leaned down, cupped the back of my head, and crashed his lips onto mine.
It was a fierce, desperate, possessive kiss that tasted of danger, smoke, and unyielding promise.
"Keep our baby safe," he whispered against my lips. "I’m ending this tonight."
Matteo grabbed my arm, pulling me down the hidden service corridor behind the suite's wardrobe just as a grenade blast shattered the windows of the East Wing, raining crystal shards across the room.
We navigated dark, narrow concrete stairwells, the sounds of battle vibrating through the foundation of the house. But as we reached the subterranean level near the wine cellar, a figure stepped out from the shadows of the arched brick hallway.
It was Alessia Moretti, holding a compact silver revolver, her manicured hand shaking with hysterical rage.
"You ruin everything, you little gutter rat," Alessia spat, raising the gun directly at my chest. "Alessandro was supposed to marry me! We were supposed to unite the families! And you think you can steal my throne with a bastard in your belly?"
"Alessia, put the weapon down," Matteo commanded, raising his gun, but his loss of blood made his aim falter.
"Shut up, old man!" Alessia shrieked, pulling back the hammer.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the ventilation shaft above. Before Alessia could pull the trigger, a heavy metal grate slammed down onto her arm, knocking the gun skittering across the stone floor.
A familiar figure dropped from the ceiling access panel, landing heavily on the concrete.
"Liam?!" I gasped in sheer disbelief.
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"Hey, El," Liam wheezed, rubbing his bruised shoulder and kicking the revolver away from the screaming mafia heiress. "Told you I'd never let you take these shifts alone."
***
