Chapter 8 - THE STRIKE AT DAWN
The heavy pounding on the massive oak front doors downstairs echoed up through the vaulted stone ceilings like rolling thunder.
Luca didn't flinch.
He didn't reach for his gun this time.
He simply closed the black leather ledger with a sharp, definitive slap that made the brass clasp click into place.
“Stay here with Sofia and the baby, Hannah,” Luca instructed, his voice as calm and unyielding as a mountain of granite.
“Luca, who could that be at this hour?” Sofia asked, clutching little Elena tighter against her chest, her knuckles turning white.
“The federal marshals already cleared the perimeter at midnight, didn't they?”
“The marshals cleared my enemies,” Luca replied, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“This is the cleanup.”
He turned on his heel and walked out of the study, his heavy footsteps fading down the long hallway toward the private elevator.
I stood by the fireplace, my heart hammering against my ribs, watching the shadows dance across the stone hearth.
Downstairs, the shouting grew louder.
I could hear the deep, authoritative voice of Marcus, the head butler.
Followed by a sharp, arrogant voice that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
*Arthur Pendelton.*
Victor Vance’s senior partner and the man whose voice had just been played off the vintage music box recorder.
“Open this damn door right now, Moretti!” Pendelton’s voice shrieked, echoing up the stairwell with hysterical desperation.
“You cannot detain officers of the court! We have federal injunctions!”
“Federal injunctions?” Luca’s voice boomed across the foyer.
Cold, calm, and lethal.
“You have forged arrest warrants and a ticket to a federal penitentiary, Arthur.”
“And you walked right through my front gates to deliver them yourself.”
I couldn't help myself.
Curiosity and sheer nervous adrenaline took over.
I whispered to Sofia, “I’ll be right back,” and hurried out of the study toward the upper gallery overlooking the grand foyer below.
Leaning over the wrought-iron balcony railing, I looked down into the massive marble entrance hall.
It looked like a war zone.
Four armed federal marshals stood near the front doors, their badges gleaming under the crystal chandeliers.
In the center of the foyer stood Arthur Pendelton—dressed in a soaking wet trench coat, his expensive gray suit rumpled, his hair disheveled, waving a stack of legal papers in Luca’s face.
Behind Pendelton stood two heavily armed local police captains who had been on the Moretti payroll for over a decade... until tonight.
“You’re finished, Luca!” Pendelton sneered, his face purple with rage.
“The district attorney has signed the asset seizure orders!”
“Moretti Holdings is bankrupt as of midnight!”
“Every account, every property, every dollar is tied up in federal receivership!”
Luca stood motionless in the center of the foyer, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't blink.
“Is that right, Arthur?” Luca asked softly.
“Read the papers!” Pendelton sneered, thrusting the legal documents toward Luca’s chest.
“Your empire is gone.”
“And by noon, you’ll be sitting in an interrogation cell right beside your attorney.”
Luca slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets.
He didn't take the papers.
Instead, he raised two fingers toward the heavy double doors leading out to the courtyard.
The oak doors swung open wide.
Stepping into the foyer wasn't a squad of local police officers.
It was a unit of federal prosecutors from the United States Department of Justice, led by Special Agent Marcus Vance—no relation to Victor, but a federal investigator who had spent three years building an airtight RICO case against the Chicago syndicate.
Special Agent Vance stepped up beside Luca, flashing a gold badge that made Arthur Pendelton’s face instantly lose every drop of color.
“Arthur Pendelton,” Special Agent Vance announced, his voice ringing loud and clear across the grand hall.
“You are under arrest for conspiracy, extortion, wire fraud, and obstruction of justice.”
Pendelton stumbled backward, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“This... this is a mistake!”
“We represent Moretti Holdings!”
“Not anymore,” Luca said, stepping forward until he towered over the corrupt lawyer.
May you like
“You represent a prison cell.”
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