Chapter 6 – PIER 42

The estate doctor arrived within three minutes, a grim, silent man who immediately went to work on Michael on the study floor.

Luca stood up. His hands were covered in his brother’s blood. He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper Michael had given him—a printed receipt for a chartered yacht scheduled to leave Pier 42 at midnight.

It was 11:15 PM.

“Sir,” I said gently, stepping closer to him. “You need to stay here. Let your men handle this.”

Luca looked at me, his eyes hollow but burning with a terrifying intensity.

“If my men go, it’s a shootout. The harbor police will get involved, the feds will get involved, and the ledger will end up in an evidence locker. Arthur Bellini will use his connections to make it disappear, and he will hunt my son for the rest of his life.”

Luca grabbed a fresh magazine from a drawer in the overturned desk and slammed it into his gun.

“I have to end this tonight, Hannah. Personally.”

“Then I’m going with you,” I said.

Luca stopped. He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

“Absolutely not. You stay here with your mother and my son.”

“Vanessa knows my face,” I argued, stepping into his path. “Her guards know my face. If you walk onto that pier, they’ll shoot you on sight. But I’m just the maid. I’m the girl they tried to frame. If I walk up first, I can cause a distraction. I can get you close.”

“It’s a suicide mission, Hannah.”

“She almost got my mother killed tonight!” I fired back, my voice rising. “She almost destroyed that little boy. I am not sitting in this mansion waiting to see if you survive.”

Luca stared at me for a long moment. He saw the fire in my eyes, the absolute refusal to back down.

Finally, he gave a curt nod. “You stay exactly three steps behind me until I give the signal.”

We took a nondescript sedan from the garage, leaving the obvious SUVs behind. The rain had stopped, leaving the Chicago streets slick and reflecting the neon lights of the city.

We reached the docks at 11:45 PM.

Pier 42 was shrouded in fog. The smell of salt water and diesel fuel hung heavy in the air. Docked at the end of the wooden pier was a massive, sleek white yacht. The engines were already humming, vibrating through the wooden planks beneath our feet.

Two armed men in dark raincoats stood at the bottom of the gangway.

Luca pulled me behind a stack of rusted shipping crates, about forty yards from the boat.

“Okay,” Luca whispered, checking his weapon one last time. “You walk up. Tell them Arthur sent you with a message. The second they look confused, I’m taking them down.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind the crates.

I walked briskly down the pier, my heels clicking loudly against the wet wood.

The two guards immediately raised their weapons, aiming high-powered flashlights at my face.

“Stop right there!” the taller guard barked.

I threw my hands up in the air, forcing panic into my voice.

“Wait! Wait! Arthur sent me! Arthur Bellini!” I yelled, running slightly toward them.

The guards frowned, lowering their flashlights an inch to get a better look at me. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the maid from the Moretti house! Arthur told me to bring the backup drive to Vanessa!”

The taller guard exchanged a confused look with his partner. “What backup drive?”

That moment of hesitation was all Luca needed.

From the shadows of the shipping crates, Luca stepped out. Two suppressed shots pffft, pffft took out the lights at the end of the pier, plunging the gangway into darkness.

Before the guards could raise their rifles, Luca closed the distance with terrifying speed. He hit the first guard with the butt of his pistol, dropping him instantly, and kicked the second guard’s knee in, sending him sprawling to the wooden planks with a groan.

Luca grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up the metal gangway onto the yacht.

The deck was quiet. The crew must have been prepping for departure in the bridge.

We moved silently toward the main cabin. Through the glass doors, we saw Vanessa.

She was standing near a luxurious leather couch, frantically stuffing stacks of cash and jewelry from a safe into a duffel bag. Sitting on the coffee table right next to her was the dark leather ledger she had stolen from Michael.

Luca pushed the glass doors open.

Vanessa whipped around, her hand flying to the small silver pistol tucked into her waistband.

But Luca already had his gun aimed directly at her chest.

“It’s over, Vanessa,” Luca said coldly.

Vanessa froze. She looked at Luca, then at me standing slightly behind him. Her aristocratic facade finally crumbled, replaced by absolute desperation.

“You can’t do this, Luca,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “If I don’t bring this ledger to the Rossi family, they’ll kill my father. They’ll kill me.”

“You should have thought of that before you tried to murder my brother.”

Vanessa slowly raised her hands, stepping away from the duffel bag.

“Take the ledger,” Vanessa cried. “Take it! Just let me take the boat. Let me leave the city!”

Luca kept his gun trained on her. He stepped forward and picked up the heavy leather ledger with his free hand.

“You’re not leaving on a yacht, Vanessa,” Luca said. “I already called the harbor police. They’ll be here in five minutes. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in a federal cell for attempted murder and kidnapping.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened in horror. She looked past Luca, staring out the glass windows of the cabin toward the dark pier.

Suddenly, her desperate expression morphed into a chilling, victorious smile.

“I don’t think the harbor police are going to make it, Luca,” Vanessa whispered.

I turned around and looked out the glass doors.

Marching down the pier, illuminated by the headlights of three black SUVs, were a dozen men holding assault rifles.

And walking at the front of the pack, leaning on a silver-tipped cane, was a man I recognized from the society papers.

Don Rossi.

He had come to collect the ledger himself.