Chapter 6 - DAWN OF THE PREDATOR
The morning sun bled sickly orange through the reinforced glass of the safe room.
I sat on the edge of a leather cot, wrapping my bruised arms in a wool blanket.
Luca hadn't slept a wink.
He stood by the digital monitors, smoking a single cigar, his dark eyes fixed on the Chicago skyline awakening above us.
“They cleared the estate by 3:00 AM,” Luca said, his voice gravelly from fatigue.
“Left no bodies, no shell casings, no forensic trace.”
“How can they just erase an armed assault?” I asked, hugging my knees.
“In Chicago, money buys the coroner, the police chief, and the city council,” Luca replied coldly.
He turned away from the screen and looked at me.
His gaze softened just a fraction.
“You shouldn't have been dragged into this, Emma. You're just a girl trying to pay rent and buy medicine for her mother.”
“My mother,” I gasped, the memory rushing back like a physical blow.
“If they know where I live, what about her? We have to go check on her!”
“She’s already moved,” Luca said calmly.
I froze.
“What?”
“At midnight, my men relocated her from Racine Street to a secure medical facility in Wisconsin,” Luca explained, pulling out his phone.
“She’s under twenty-four-hour armed guard. She has her prescriptions, her private room, and absolute safety.”
Tears welled in my eyes, completely unbidden.
“You... you did that while the house was being attacked?”
“I protect what matters, Emma,” he said, stepping closer.
“And right now, you and your mother are the only people I can trust.”
A heavy knock echoed against the steel safe-room door.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
Three slow, deliberate strikes.
Luca’s hand instantly dropped to his holster.
“Step behind me,” he ordered in a lethal whisper.
I scrambled off the cot, pressing my back against the cold concrete wall.
Luca approached the door, his finger hovering over the security override switch.
“Open the door, son,” a raspy voice echoed through the intercom speaker.
Luca went completely rigid.
The color drained from his face faster than I had ever seen.
“Uncle Marco?” Luca whispered.
“Open up, Luca,” the voice repeated.
“We have a lot to discuss about the Bellini shipment arriving at the docks at noon.”
Luca punched the keypad.
The heavy steel door swung open.
An elderly man with a scarred cheek and silver hair stepped inside.
He wore a long trench coat smelling of rain and gunpowder.
Marco Moretti.
Luca’s uncle, rumored to have vanished into exile ten years ago.
Marco stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto me standing in the corner.
He let out a raspy, knowing chuckle.
“So,” Marco smiled, his gaze shifting back to his nephew.
“The mafia boss nearly brings down his entire empire over a couple of warm dinner rolls and a pretty housemaid.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Watch your tongue, Uncle.”
Marco walked past him, pulling a blood-stained Manila folder from his coat.
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“You think Vincenzo Bellini just wants a community kitchen?” Marco slammed the folder onto the desk.
“He’s setting up a trap. And you walked right into it.”
