Chapter 4 - Blood on the Marina
The world dissolved into controlled chaos in less than three seconds.
Before I could even process the gunshot, Luca had lunged across the room, grabbing me by the arm and shoving me down behind the heavy mahogany desk where Sophia lay sleeping.
“Stay down!” Luca barked, drawing a sleek, suppressed 9mm pistol from a concealed holster beneath his suit jacket with terrifying efficiency.
Bang! Bang!
Two more bullets tore through the wooden door panel, splintering the oak and burying themselves into the velvet headboard of the bed behind us. Glass shattered as someone threw a smoke grenade through the high window overlooking the service balcony. Thick, grey smoke billowed into the suite, carrying the acrid stench of sulfur and burning plastic.
“Daddy?” Sophia whimpered, waking up coughing from the smoke.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave into a tone of absolute, unbreakable steel. He scooped Sophia into one arm while keeping his pistol aimed squarely at the blown-open door. He looked down at me, his eyes fierce. “Hannah, grab my belt. Do not let go.”
I grabbed the heavy leather of his belt with both hands, my heart in my throat.
The door was kicked off its hinges with a deafening crash. Two masked figures dressed in tactical black gear rushed into the smoke-filled room, assault rifles raised.
They didn't even get a chance to acquire their targets.
Luca fired twice with ruthless, surgical precision. Both intruders dropped before they could clear the threshold. But as the smoke cleared slightly, the sound of heavy boots echoing up the private stairwell confirmed what we already feared: an entire tactical strike team had breached the top floor.
“The service elevator,” Luca hissed, grabbing my hand while carrying Sophia with his left arm. “Move!”
We sprinted past the fallen intruders, out into the dimly lit hallway, and toward the rear service corridor. Gunfire erupted behind us as more guards poured out of the stairwell. Luca fired blind shots over his shoulder, suppressing their advance while kicking open the heavy steel door leading to the industrial service lift.
We tumbled inside. Luca slammed his fist against the emergency override button, and the heavy metal doors slammed shut just as a hail of bullets ricocheted off the exterior frame.
The lift dropped rapidly toward the basement level, descending into the belly of the hotel.
“Are you hit?” Luca asked, his chest heaving as he checked Sophia over in the dim light of the moving car.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, trembling from head to toe. “Who were they? The Russian syndicate?”
“No,” Luca said, his face carved from granite. “Russians use car bombs and poison. That was professional corporate wet-work. That was Marcus’s backup plan. When he realized his house of cards was falling, he triggered an emergency extraction team to silence anyone who knew the truth about the crash.”
The lift ground to a halt with a metallic shudder. The doors slid open, revealing the subterranean loading docks of the Harbor Lights Grand Hotel, where rain flooded the concrete floor and dark water lapped against the pilings of the Chicago River.
A sleek black armored SUV idling near the dock doors flashed its headlights twice.
“Mateo!” Luca yelled over the sound of the rain.
A heavy-set man in a wet trench coat jumped out of the driver’s seat, holding an automatic rifle. “Boss! We heard the shots upstairs. The entire perimeter is compromised. Local police are en route, but so is a clean-up crew from the Vance estate.”
“Forget the police, get us to the safe house on Lake Michigan,” Luca ordered, pushing Sophia and me into the back seat of the armored vehicle. He jumped in behind us, slamming the heavy door shut as Mateo floored the accelerator, crashing through the dock security gate and speeding out into the stormy Chicago night.
As the city lights blurred past our windows, I looked down at Sophia, who was resting her head against my lap, fast asleep despite the terror of the past ten minutes.
Luca sat beside us, his hand resting protectively over mine.
May you like
“Hannah,” he said softly, the harshness completely gone from his voice. “After tonight, there is no going back to your old apartment, your catering job, or your normal life. You are tied to me now. To us.”
I looked into his dark, unwavering eyes, realizing that for the first time in three years, I wasn't afraid of what came next.
