Chapter 4 - The Sound of Broken Wood
Rounds hammered the reinforced windshield.
The bulletproof glass fractured into dense spiderwebs.
“Get down!” Luca barked, shoving my head onto his lap.
He slammed the transmission into park beside the stone boathouse.
He kicked his door open, firing his rifle in three-round bursts into the upper
terrace.
Two Bellini snipers tumbled off the railing into the churning black lake water.
Marco threw smoke grenades across the courtyard.
White chemical fog blanketed the lawn.
Luca pulled me out by my jacket, dragging me through the low wooden door of the
boathouse.
The smell of rotting timber, stagnant water, and motor oil filled the air.
Beneath the floorboards, we could hear the roar of rushing water.
And a faint, desperate screaming:
“LUCA! HELP ME!”
Isabella.
“The bypass box!” Luca shouted over the roar of the turbine.
“Where is the panel?!”
I scanned the stone foundation.
Near the brass pressure gauge was a heavy iron faceplate secured by four antique
screws.
And in the center: a circular keyhole matching the miniature brass key.
My fingers shook violently.
I slid the key into the slot.
It turned half an inch.
Then jammed.
“It won't turn!” I yelled, panic clawing my throat.
“The tumblers are rusted from the lake spray!”
CRACK.
A rifle bullet tore through the wooden boathouse door.
Marco took a round to the thigh and collapsed against the oil drums, firing his
sidearm blindly.
Through the splintered door stepped Don Alberto Bellini—Vanessa’s father.
He held a drum-fed shotgun.
His face was twisted in psychotic rage.
“Step away from the box, Moretti!” Bellini roared.
“The water is at her chin! Sign the port transfer or listen to her drown!”
Luca turned, raising his empty rifle.
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