Chapter 8 - The Shadow's Edge
BANG!
A heavy, suppressed gunshot shattered the silence of the suite.
The glass carafe of iced spring water on the table exploded into thousands of sparkling fragments, showering the rug in water and sharp crystal shards.
Lorenzo moved with blinding, instinctual speed.
Before the echoes of the shot had even died away, his broad frame slammed into Rosie, throwing her off her chair and driving her down onto the soft, plush carpet behind the mahogany table. He covered her body completely with his own, his broad shoulders shielding her head and chest as his right hand reached beneath his suit vest, drawing a dark, custom German pistol from a shoulder holster.
"Stay down!" Lorenzo growled into her ear, his scent of sandalwood and gunpowder instantly washing over her.
At the front entrance of the suite stood Dominic Moretti.
He looked completely insane. His tie was torn open, his expensive suit jacket stained with dirt, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He held a high-caliber suppressed pistol in his hand, trembling with unbridled rage.
He had bypassed the floor security by using the external service fire escape stairwell—a route he had learned from Dante months earlier.
"You ruined us!" Dominic screamed, his voice cracking with hysterical fury as he aimed his weapon toward the dining table. "You bought Vance's lawyers! You grounded my father's plane! You think you can take everything from the Moretti family?!"
From the hallway outside, Mateo's voice roared, followed by the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps sprinting down the corridor.
Dominic knew he had five seconds before he was cut down. He fired two wild shots through the mahogany table, the heavy bullets splintering the polished wood inches above Lorenzo's head.
"Die, you bastard!" Dominic shrieked.
Rosie, lying beneath Lorenzo’s heavy weight, saw the silver fountain pen lying on the carpet three inches from her hand.
She didn't freeze. She didn't scream.
She reached out, grabbed the heavy silver pen, and with a swift, powerful thrust of her broad right arm, jammed the sharp, solid-steel point directly into the top of Dominic’s right foot—driving the heavy metal nib straight through his leather designer shoe and into the bone.
Dominic let out a high-pitched, agonizing shriek of pain, his body collapsing sideways as his footing gave out completely.
His pistol tilted upward toward the ceiling.
Lorenzo didn't waste a fraction of a second.
He rose up from the floor, pulled his weapon, and fired two precise shots into Dominic Moretti’s chest.
THUD. THUD.
Dominic fell backward onto the hallway carpet, his eyes rolling back in his head, his weapon clattering uselessly against the baseboard.
Mateo and four armed security guards burst through the broken doorway a second later, their weapons raised, their eyes wide with horror as they swept the room.
"Clear!" Mateo yelled, rushing over to Lorenzo’s side. "Boss! Are you hit?!"
Lorenzo stood up slowly, wiping a smudge of dark wood dust from his crisp white shirt. He didn't look at his suit. He didn't look at Dominic's lifeless body near the door.
He immediately turned around and extended both hands down toward Rosie.
"Rosie," Lorenzo said, his voice trembling with a sudden, violent anxiety that he had never shown during any negotiation or mob threat. "Rosie, look at me. Are you hurt?"
Rosie sat up slowly on the carpet, brushing glass fragments from her white linen shirt. She looked down at her right hand, which was slightly smeared with blood from the silver fountain pen, then up at the dark, powerful man hovering over her like a guardian spirit.
"I am fine, Lorenzo," Rosie said, her voice remarkably steady, though her chest was rising and falling in deep, rapid breaths.
She took his hands, letting him pull her up to her full, imposing height.
Lorenzo looked down at Dominic's leather shoe, seeing the silver fountain pen protruding from the leather, then looked back at Rosie's calm, unyielding face.
A low, disbelieving laugh bubbled up in his chest.
"You stabbed him with a fountain pen," Lorenzo whispered, his dark eyes shining with an intense, fierce pride.
"It was a very expensive pen," Rosie replied, smoothing down the front of her trousers. "It would have been a waste to let him shoot us."
Mateo looked between the two of them, a slow, wide grin spreading across his scarred face.
"Boss," Mateo said, stepping over Dominic's body. "The police precinct captain just called my line. The scene at O'Hare is completely secured. Anthony Moretti has been taken into federal custody under an emergency racketeering indictment. The Moretti threat in Chicago is officially dead."
Lorenzo didn't break eye contact with Rosie. He reached out, his broad, warm palm gently cupping her jawline, his thumb wiping a drop of sweat from her cheek.
"Clean this room," Lorenzo commanded Mateo softly, his voice meant only for Rosie. "And bring my car to the VIP subterranean exit."
"Yes, boss," Mateo replied immediately.
Lorenzo looked into Rosie’s hazel eyes, his grip on her jaw firm, warm, and possessive.
"The Drake Hotel is behind you now, Rosie Hastings," Lorenzo murmured softly. "Tonight, you come home with me."
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Rosie looked at the heavy Manila envelope lying on the intact corner of the table, then looked into the eyes of the man who ruled Chicago.
"Lead the way, Mr. Bianca," Rosie said.
