Chapter 9 - The Blood on the Marble
The man stumbled back with a curse, blood spurting from his cut lip, his tactical light dropping to the floor.
"You bitch!" the second man shouted, stepping forward with his hand raised to strike her.
BANG.
The glass doors behind Elena shattered into a million sparkling shards as a single high-caliber bullet tore through the rainy night air, striking the second man directly in the shoulder. He collapsed onto the wooden floorboards, screaming in agony.
Outside on the terrace, a shadow stepped through the rain and broken glass.
Matteo.
He wore a dark tactical coat, his hand gripping a heavy black pistol, his face illuminated by the flashes of lightning illuminating the Amalfi coast. His dark eyes were burning with a lethal, terrifying fury.
The lead assailant lunged for his dropped weapon, but Matteo crossed the room in two blinding steps, driving his heavy boot directly into the man’s ribs, crushing him against the marble fireplace.
Matteo raised his pistol, pressing the cold barrel directly against the man's forehead.
"Matteo, no!" Elena shouted, rushing forward, her hands grabbing his arm.
Matteo froze. The deadly pulse in his jaw throbbed wildly. He looked down at Elena—at her pale, terrified face, her hair flying wild in the wind blowing through the broken window.
"He touched you," Matteo growled, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"If you kill him in front of me, you bring your dark world back into my life!" Elena begged, her fingers holding his arm with all her strength. "Don't do it, Matteo! Hand him over to the police! Choose a different way!"
Matteo stood frozen in the dark room, the rain pouring over them through the shattered terrace doors, his pulse raging between the ruthless violence of his past and the woman who was holding his soul in her hands.
Slowly, agonizingly, Matteo lowered the gun.
He brought the heavy grip of the pistol down hard against the man’s temple, knocking him instantly unconscious.
Marco and four Bellini guards burst into the room seconds later, securing the two injured assailants and clearing the perimeter.
"Take them to the authority precincts in Naples," Matteo ordered Marco smoothly, his voice cold as ice. "Attach the full surveillance footage of their armed break-in. Let the federal prosecutors dismantle the Moretti family through the courts."
Marco looked astonished. "The courts, Boss?"
"Sergio Moretti is finished," Matteo declared softly. "He will spend the rest of his life in an Italian federal prison."
Marco bowed his head, dragging the two men out of the studio.
The room fell quiet once more, save for the patter of rain against the terrace.
Matteo turned to Elena. He dropped his gun onto the table, stepped over the broken glass, and pulled her tightly into his arms.
He held her with a desperate, trembling force, his face buried in her hair, his heavy heart pounding wildly against her chest.
"I’m sorry," Matteo whispered, his voice breaking in the dark. "I'm so sorry I brought this to your door."
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Elena wrapped her arms around his back, feeling the rain on his jacket, feeling the deep, genuine trembling of a man who had almost lost everything that mattered.
"You didn't bring it, Matteo," Elena whispered gently, pressing her face against his chest. "You stopped it."
