Chapter 9
The encrypted line clicked open, filling the quiet, luxurious cabin of the SUV with a hiss of static. Outside, the heavy rain continued to wash over the armored glass as Luca navigated the vehicle toward the fortified boundaries of his sprawling Chicago estate.
"Speak," Luca commanded, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated with pure, terrifying authority.
"A beautiful gala tonight, Luca," a smooth, chillingly calm voice echoed through the speakers. It was Victor Falcone, the head of the rival Chicago syndicate. His American accent was refined, but laced with toxic, arrogant cruelty. "Though I hear the entertainment was a bit disruptive. I hope Marcus didn't cause too much of a mess in your garage."
Hannah stiffened in the backseat, her warm face paling as she recognized the name of the syndicate that had hunted her. She held Sophia tighter, ensuring the sleeping girl’s curly golden-brown hair remained pressed against her comforting chest.
Luca’s piercing eyes remained fixed on the road, his heavily tattooed hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. "Marcus is currently unconscious in a pool of his own failures, Victor. And your scouting team is likely in the hands of the Chicago Police Department by now."
Victor chuckled darkly. "A minor setback. You always were exceptionally good at surviving, Luca. But you can't protect everyone forever. We know who the plus-sized woman in the mint-green dress is. We know she can tie my family to the hit on your wife three years ago."
"She is under my protection," Luca stated, his words falling like heavy iron blocks. "If you or any of your men come within a mile of her, I will dismantle your entire operation. I will burn your clubs, freeze your accounts, and wipe the Falcone name from this city permanently."
"Big words from a grieving widower playing nursemaid to a crippled child," Victor taunted, the cruelty intended to strike Luca’s deepest vulnerabilities.
Luca did not explode. He did not yell. He allowed a terrifying, cinematic silence to stretch over the encrypted line. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was so intensely cold it seemed to lower the temperature inside the SUV.
"My daughter walked tonight, Victor," Luca whispered softly, a dark, triumphant promise weaving through his words. "She ran across a marble ballroom. The psychological trauma your men inflicted on her is broken. She is healing. And because she is healing, I no longer have to spend every waking moment sitting beside her wheelchair."
The line went completely silent. Even Victor Falcone understood the terrifying implication of those words. For three years, Luca Moretti had been distracted, operating at half capacity because his heart was anchored to his fragile daughter’s pain. Now, the king of Chicago was unchained.
"You woke the devil tonight, Victor," Luca continued, his sharp masculine jawline illuminated by passing streetlights. "I know it was you who paid Marcus. I know it was you who ordered the hit. I am coming for you. And I won't stop until you are a ghost."
Luca reached out and violently ended the call, cutting the line before Victor could respond.
The heavy SUV plunged back into the rhythmic, soothing sound of the rain hitting the roof. Luca took a deep, steadying breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he forced the lethal Mafia boss back into the depths of his mind. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, his eyes softening as he looked at Hannah.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Luca apologized gently.
Hannah shook her head, her expressive eyes wide but remarkably resolute. "You don't have to apologize to me, Luca. You are protecting us."
May you like
"Always," Luca promised. He turned the heavy steering wheel, steering the massive vehicle onto the private, heavily fortified access road that led to the Moretti estate. Towering iron gates loomed in the distance, surrounded by high stone walls and armed patrols.
They were almost home.
