Chapter 7 – THE PORTUGUESE BANKER

The air in the dining room froze.

Henrique’s face was pale, glistening with sweat. Blood seeped through his fingers where he clutched his shoulder. He had escaped police custody. The desperation in his eyes was absolute; he was a dead man walking, and he knew it.

“Put the crystal on the table, Luca,” Henrique rasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe, keeping the gun trained squarely on my mother.

Luca didn’t move. He held the crystal tight in his fist, his body instinctively shifting to shield me.

“You’re bleeding out, Henrique,” Luca said, his voice calm and lethal. “You won’t make it out of the city. My men are already hunting you. The police are hunting you.”

“I have a private jet waiting at Midway,” Henrique spat, coughing wetly. “I just need the microfilm. I can leverage it to buy my life back from the European cartel. Now put it down, or Maria dies.”

“Don’t do it, Luca,” my mother said firmly, her chin raised. She didn’t look afraid. She looked furious.

“Shut up!” Henrique roared, aiming the gun higher.

“Let her go,” I pleaded, stepping out from behind Luca. “You have what you want. Just take it and leave!”

Luca grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Rachel, stay behind me.”

Luca slowly reached out and placed the hollow crystal onto the white tablecloth, right next to the spilled coffee stain that had started this entire nightmare hours ago.

“Slide it over,” Henrique demanded.

Luca pushed the crystal. It slid across the smooth linen, stopping at the edge of the table near Henrique.

The banker kept his gun leveled at my mother as he reached out with his bloody left hand, snatching the crystal off the table. A triumphant, manic smile broke across his pale face.

“Twenty years of paranoia,” Henrique gasped, clutching the crystal to his chest. “Finally over.”

He took a step backward toward the hallway.

“You think the Bellinis are going to let you live even if you hand that over?” Luca asked, his voice echoing in the large room.

“I don’t intend to hand it to the Bellinis,” Henrique smirked. “I intend to sell it to the FBI. Complete immunity. A new life.”

He took another step back.

“Goodbye, Luca,” Henrique said, raising his gun to eliminate the witnesses.

But as his finger tightened on the trigger, a loud, metallic click echoed from the shadows of the hallway directly behind him.

Henrique froze.

Stepping out of the darkness was a figure I hadn’t expected to see.

It was Vanessa Bellini.

Her red dress was torn, her makeup ruined, her wrists bruised from police cuffs she had clearly escaped or bribed her way out of. But she wasn’t looking at Luca.

She was pressing the barrel of a small, silver derringer directly against the back of Henrique’s neck.

“You arrogant Portuguese rat,” Vanessa hissed, her voice dripping with pure venom.

Henrique swallowed hard, lowering his gun slightly. “Vanessa… be reasonable. We can share the payout.”

“You used me,” Vanessa snarled, pushing the gun harder into his spine. “You told me the retirement fund was just bleeding the accounts. You didn’t tell me Antonio hid the embezzlement ledgers. You let me look like a fool in front of my father.”

“I was protecting the cartel!” Henrique pleaded, his cool demeanor shattering completely.

“My father is the cartel,” Vanessa said coldly.

“Vanessa, wait,” Luca warned, stepping forward. “If you shoot him, the police will descend on this house. You’re already a fugitive.”

Vanessa looked past Henrique, her eyes locking onto Luca. The hatred in her gaze was toxic.

“I lost everything tonight, Luca,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “You humiliated me. You broke our engagement for a maid. My father will disown me for getting arrested. I have nothing left.”

She looked at me, trembling in my stained apron.

“But I can take something from you,” Vanessa said, a twisted smile spreading across her lips.

She didn’t pull the trigger on Henrique.

Instead, she shoved him hard into the dining room, sending the wounded banker crashing to the floor. The crystal rolled out of his bloody hand, spinning across the hardwood.

Vanessa raised her silver gun, aiming it directly at my chest.

“Die, you little bastard,” she screamed.

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed room.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact, but the pain never came.

Instead, a heavy weight crashed into me, driving me to the floor. I opened my eyes and saw Luca kneeling over me, his broad shoulders shielding my body.

He let out a sharp grunt of pain.

“Luca!” my mother screamed.

Luca didn’t collapse. He turned smoothly on one knee, drawing his weapon from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed.

He fired twice.

The loud cracks echoed over the ringing in my ears.

Vanessa staggered backward, dropping her silver gun. She looked down at her chest in shock, then slumped against the doorframe, sliding down to the floor, completely still.

The room fell dead silent, save for Henrique’s ragged breathing.

I scrambled up, terror gripping my heart as I looked at Luca. He was clutching his left side. Blood was rapidly staining his crisp white shirt, blooming like a dark rose just above his ribs.

“Luca! Oh my god, you’re shot!” I cried, pressing my hands over the wound.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, his face pale but his eyes entirely focused. He looked at Henrique, who was trying to crawl toward the dropped crystal.

Luca raised his gun, aiming it at the banker’s head.

“Don’t move, Henrique,” Luca ordered, his voice iron-clad despite the pain.

Suddenly, the front doors of the mansion burst open.

“Police! Drop your weapons!” a chorus of voices shouted from the foyer.

Dozens of heavily armed SWAT officers flooded into the dining room, their laser sights painting the room red. They swarmed Henrique, pinning him to the ground and seizing the crystal. Paramedics rushed in right behind them, descending on Vanessa and Luca.

I held onto Luca’s hand as they laid him on a stretcher.

“You saved my life,” I wept, gripping his fingers.

Luca managed a weak smile. “You’re my sister, Rachel. I protect what’s mine.”

As they wheeled him out, the older detective with the mustache walked up to me. He looked at the chaos, the blood, the shattered crystal chandelier above us.

“You’ve had a busy night, Miss Morgan,” the detective said gently.

I looked at my mother, who walked over and wrapped her arms around me. We were covered in blood and coffee stains, exhausted and terrified.

“It’s over,” my mother whispered into my hair.

I nodded, burying my face in her shoulder.

But as the police secured the room, one of the officers picked up Vanessa’s discarded silver gun. He frowned, examining the handle.

He walked over to the detective.

“Sir,” the officer said quietly. “This weapon… the serial number is scratched off, but it has a custom insignia on the grip.”

The detective looked at it. His face paled.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart dropping.

The detective looked at me, a profound pity in his eyes.

“This isn’t a Bellini gun, Miss Morgan,” he said grimly. “This insignia belongs to the Moretti family. Specifically, to Antonio Moretti.”

My breath hitched. “Luca’s father?”

“Yes,” the detective said. “Which means Vanessa didn’t bring this gun into the house tonight.”

He looked toward the dark hallway.

“Someone inside this house gave it to her.”