Chapter 6 - Blood on the Ivory Piano
Twelve agonizing minutes passed in absolute silence.
None of the thirty guests dared to move. The wine in their glasses grew warm; the expensive chocolate pastries sat melting under the heat of the chandelier bulbs.
Then, the heavy oak doors at the back of the reception hall swung open with a resounding bang.
Matteo walked into the room. In his large, leather-gloved hands, he carried a heavy, olive-drab waterproof military Pelican case, covered in decades-old dust and damp subterranean soil.
He marched straight down the aisle and set the heavy case onto the head table, right in front of Marco Bellini.
“Found it under the flagstone, boss,” Matteo reported. “The seal was intact. Nobody has touched this since Donna Sarah locked it five years ago.”
Luca pulled a slender steel pick from his pocket, flipped open the heavy latches, and opened the lid.
Inside lay three thick, black hardbound ledgers filled with Sarah’s meticulous handwriting, alongside four encrypted USB thumb drives and a sworn affidavit notarized by a federal judge who had retired to Arizona four years ago.
Luca picked up the top ledger, opening it to a page flagged with a yellow ribbon.
“Manifest #9921,” Luca read aloud, his voice booming through the vaulted room. “Four hundred drums of methylamine imported through the Port of Montreal, routed through Bellini Logistics Pier 14, billed as industrial detergent. Signed off by Marco Bellini. Kickback paid to the Cook County Port Commissioner: two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
He turned the page.
“Manifest #10044. Weapons shipment from Eastern Europe, concealed in agricultural machinery. Billed to Moretti Freight without my signature, using a forged facsimile of my father’s seal.”
Luca looked up, his dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal certainty.
“You didn't just kill my wife, Marco. You used my family’s name to shield your poison from federal interception. And when Sarah caught you, you murdered her to save your own skin.”
Marco Bellini didn’t speak. His face had hardened into stone.
With lightning speed, Marco’s right hand whipped out from beneath the tablecloth. He had palmed a small, flat ceramic derringer from his boot buckle—a weapon designed to pass through metal detectors undetected.
He didn't aim at Luca.
He aimed directly at me.
He knew that if he fired at Luca, Matteo would drop him instantly. But chaos was his only exit. A hostage, a dead bystander, anything to create a stampede among the guests.
“Down!” Luca roared.
Before Marco could pull the double-action trigger, Luca moved with terrifying speed. He lunged across the corner of the table, his heavy forearm slamming down across Marco’s wrist.
The gun fired with a muffled CRACK.
The ceramic bullet went wild, shattering an antique crystal sconce against the wall and raining sparkling shards down onto the ivory grand piano.
A woman shrieked. Two guests threw themselves under the table.
Luca didn’t give Marco a second chance. He gripped Marco’s lapels, hauled the older man clean out of his chair, and slammed him face-first onto the polished mahogany banquet table, shattering plates, spilling wine, and sending silver forks flying in every direction.
Matteo had his gun pressed against Marco’s temple before the man could draw another breath.
“Move,” Matteo growled, “and your brains become the centerpiece.”
Marco groaned against the wood, blood trickling from his broken nose onto the white linen cloth.
Luca stood over him, breathing evenly, his tuxedo unbuttoned, his cuffs immaculate despite the violence.
He turned toward Vanessa, who had collapsed onto the floor beside the grand piano, clutching her ears, sobbing in uncontrolled hysteria.
“Get up,” Luca said to her.
She looked up at him, tears ruining her expensive mascara, leaving black tracks down her pale cheeks. “Luca... please... don’t kill my father! I’ll do anything! I’ll sign whatever you want!”
Luca walked over to the piano, picked up a clean linen napkin from a side table, and wiped a speck of dust from his sleeve.
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“You’re not going to die tonight, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “Death is too clean. You’re going to watch everything your father built turn into ashes.”
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