Chapter 6 - The Shattered Vault
Clare moved through the dark service corridors like a shadow, her soft-soled housekeeper shoes making no sound against the flagstones.
As she neared the central wine cellar, she heard voices echoing off the damp stone walls. She flattened her back against a brick archway, peeking carefully around the corner.
Three men in unmarked tactical gear were standing near the hidden passage that had been opened the night before. They carried silenced submachine guns, their faces covered by black balaclavas.
Marco Bellini stood in front of them, holding a radio to his ear.
“Is the jammer active?” Marco asked into the radio, his voice sharp and precise.
A crackle of static answered. “Jammer is online, Marco. No cellular or radio signals are leaving the property. The security team in the gatehouse has been neutralized quietly.”
“Good,” Marco said, a cold, ruthless smile spreading across his grey face. “Dante is in the library upstairs. He thinks he’s meeting the captains at midnight. We take him down before they even reach the outer gates, make it look like a rival hit from the Detroit crew, and I take over the council by morning.”
“What about the housekeeper?” one of the tactical men asked. “She was asking questions earlier.”
Marco dismissed the question with a cold flick of his wrist. “If she gets in the way, put her down. She’s nobody.”
Clare’s blood ran cold. She’s nobody.
She backed away slowly, stepping deeper into the shadows of the rear corridor that led up to the private library via the hidden servant staircase. She needed to reach Dante before Marco’s men secured the upper floor.
She ran up the narrow spiral stairs, her chest heaving, the heavy iron candleholder gripped tightly in her hand.
When she reached the hidden door behind the library bookshelf, she pressed her ear against the wood. She could hear the faint sound of classical music playing inside—Dante was listening to Bach while sitting at his desk. He was completely unaware that his perimeter had already been breached.
Clare pushed the hidden latch. The bookshelf swung open smoothly on its oiled hinges.
Dante looked up instantly, his hand dropping to the open drawer of his mahogany desk where a heavy black pistol rested. When he saw Clare step out from behind the books, his brow furrowed in surprise.
“Clare? What are you doing here? I told you to go to the safe room with Lily.”
“They’re early, Mr. Moretti!” Clare gasped, leaning against the desk to catch her breath. “Marco isn't waiting for midnight! He activated a signal jammer and neutralized the gatehouse. His men are in the wine cellar right now!”
Dante’s eyes flared with a lethal, terrifying intensity. He didn't panic. He didn't curse. He simply stood up, pulled the black pistol from his drawer, and checked the magazine with a swift, practiced flick of his wrist.
“Where is Lily?” he asked, his voice dead calm.
“She’s locked inside the safe room behind the linen pantry,” Clare said. “She’s safe.”
“Good,” Dante said. He looked at her, noticing the heavy iron candleholder in her trembling hand. A flicker of profound respect crossed his dark eyes. “You came up here to warn me.”
“I couldn't let them kill you,” she said simply.
Before Dante could answer, the door to the library swung open with a violent thud.
Marco Bellini stepped into the room, flanked by two armed men with submachine guns.
“Evening, Dante,” Marco said, his pistol raised and aimed directly at Dante’s chest. “You always were too predictable. Setting a trap for midnight... did you really think I didn't notice you looking at me differently today?”
Dante didn't raise his gun. He stood calmly behind his desk, his expression cold as ice. “Thirty years, Marco. My father treated you like a brother.”
“Your father kept me on a leash!” Marco snarled, his eyes wide with a manic, long-simmering rage. “I built this empire with him! And when he died, he handed everything to you—a boy who spent half his youth reading books in Europe while I was bleeding in the streets!”
“So you sold my house to Detroit,” Dante said softly. “You let them put wires in my walls so they could strip my business piece by piece.”
“Detroit offered me fifty percent of the territory,” Marco spat. “All I had to do was give them your head.”
Marco turned his eyes toward Clare, his lip curling in disgust. “And you... the little housekeeper. I told you to stay in your room, Clare. You should have listened.”
“She has nothing to do with this, Marco,” Dante stepped in front of Clare, shielding her with his body. “Let her walk away.”
Marco laughed, a bitter, cruel sound. “Nobody walks away tonight, Dante. End it.”
Marco’s men raised their weapons.
At that exact second, a massive, black shape burst through the tall French windows behind Marco with a deafening crash of shattered glass and wood.
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Nero landed like a strike of lightning.
The giant Cane Corso lunged directly at the nearest gunman, his jaws locking around the man’s wrist with bone-crushing force. The guard screamed as he was slammed violently to the hardwood floor, his submachine gun discharging a wild burst of bullets into the ceiling.
