Chapter 7 – The Knock At The Penthouse Door

We were finally safe.

Or so I thought.

The smell of maple syrup filled the bright penthouse kitchen. Noah was laughing as Luca walked into the room, lifting the eight-year-old high into the air.

“Who’s ready for the biggest pancake in Chicago?” Luca grinned, setting his son down at the head of the table.

Anna walked in behind him, wrapping her arms around Luca’s waist from behind. She looked radiant, the heavy shadows of hiding completely gone from her face.

I sat across from Noah, sipping a mug of coffee.

For the first time in twenty-six years, my chest didn’t ache with loneliness.

But then, the heavy brass knocker on the penthouse door echoed through the apartment.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Luca froze.

The smile vanished from his face.

Nobody knocked on the penthouse door.

The private elevator required a retinal scan to even access this floor, and Luca’s security guards were stationed in the lobby twenty-four hours a day.

Luca silently pushed Anna behind him.

He reached under the back of his sweater, his hand resting on the grip of his holstered pistol.

“Take Noah to the back bedroom, Bella,” Luca whispered to me without taking his eyes off the door.

I didn’t ask questions. I grabbed Noah’s hand and pulled him quietly down the hall. Elena followed, her face pale.

Once they were secured behind the heavy oak door of the master suite, I crept back into the hallway, just out of sight of the entrance.

Luca stood in front of the door.

He didn’t look through the peephole. He knew that if someone had bypassed his security, they were dangerous.

He drew his gun, holding it flat against his chest.

With his left hand, he turned the deadbolt and yanked the door open.

Standing in the hallway was a man wearing a soaked, filthy trench coat.

He was bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound in his left shoulder.

Luca immediately raised his gun, aiming directly at the man’s forehead.

But the man didn’t flinch.

He looked at Luca with exhausted, pain-filled eyes.

“Hello, little brother,” the man whispered.

Luca’s gun trembled.

He took a step backward, absolute shock washing over his hardened features.

“Marco?” Luca breathed.

I peeked around the corner.

The man in the doorway looked like an older, rougher version of Luca. He had the same dark eyes, the same broad shoulders, but his face was scarred, and his hair was streaked with grey.

“I thought you were dead,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “I buried you ten years ago.”

Marco offered a weak, pained smile.

“You buried an empty casket, Luca,” Marco coughed, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “I had to disappear. The syndicate wanted my head. If they knew I was alive, they would have killed you and Mom too.”

Anna gasped, stepping out from behind Luca. “Marco? Oh my god, you’re bleeding.”

Luca snapped out of his shock. He grabbed his older brother by the good arm and hauled him inside, kicking the door shut and locking it.

“Get the medical kit!” Luca shouted to Anna.

I ran into the bathroom, grabbed the heavy trauma kit from beneath the sink, and rushed back into the living room.

Marco was slouched on the expensive white sofa, his blood staining the upholstery.

Luca tore Marco’s coat open and pressed a heavy gauze pad against the bullet wound.

“Who shot you, Marco?” Luca demanded, his eyes burning with protective rage. “If Robert’s men found you—”

“Robert is dead, Luca,” Marco coughed. “Your men took care of him in transport three weeks ago. It wasn’t Robert’s crew.”

“Then who?”

Marco looked up at Luca, his face pale.

“The Bellini family,” Marco whispered. “They know about the ledger, Luca. They know I have it.”

Luca froze.

“The Genesis Ledger?” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “Dad told me that was a myth. A ghost story.”

“It’s not a myth,” Marco said, gripping Luca’s arm tightly. “It’s the original accounting book from 1982. It proves that the Bellini family didn’t build this city. Our father did. It proves the Bellinis stole billions from the union trusts and framed our father for the embezzlement.”

Marco swallowed hard, grimacing in pain.

“If the Commission sees that ledger, the Bellini family will be stripped of their seat. They’ll be executed for treason against the families.”

Luca’s jaw clenched. “Where is it?”

Marco reached into the inner pocket of his soaked trench coat with his good hand.

He pulled out a heavy, brass-plated safety deposit key.

“It’s in a locker at Union Station,” Marco breathed. “But they tracked me. They have men watching the station right now.”

Marco looked past Luca, his eyes landing on me.

He frowned. “Who is she?”

Luca looked at me, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“This is Isabella,” Luca said softly. “Our sister.”

Marco’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The baby? The one the Bellinis stole?”

“Yes,” Luca said.

Marco smiled softly. “You have Mom’s eyes.”

Suddenly, the penthouse intercom buzzed violently.

Luca walked over and hit the button. “What is it?”

His head of security’s voice came through, sounding frantic.

“Mr. Moretti, we have a massive problem. The lobby is breached. Thirty armed men just walked through the front doors wearing Bellini colors. The police have been paid off. They’ve locked down the building.”

Luca’s expression hardened into stone.

“Hold the elevators,” Luca ordered.

“We can’t, sir,” the guard yelled over the sound of gunfire in the background. “They’re already on their way up!”

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