Chapter 11 - The Rehearsal of False Vows
The mansion descended into chaotic alarms and flashing red strobes.
“Stay behind me!” Luca commanded, drawing his Glock from his shoulder holster
with lightning speed.
He kicked the library doors open and sprinted down the long marble corridor
toward the master wing. I followed closely behind, the sharp spikes of
adrenaline driving out every ounce of fear.
As we reached the top of the grand staircase, we saw the aftermath.
One of the security guards lay groaning on the Persian runner outside the master
suite, clutching a bleeding shoulder. The heavy double doors to Luca’s personal
bedroom stood wide open.
Luca rounded the doorframe with his weapon raised, slicing the room with his
sights.
Standing in the center of the master bedroom, illuminated by the flashing red
emergency lights, was Vanessa.
She had stripped off her emerald blouse, wearing a torn black tank top and dark
trousers. In her hands, she clutched a heavy tactical shotgun taken from the
guard’s armory locker.
Her hair was wild, her eyes dilated with manic, unhinged fury.
And resting on the king-sized bed beside her was a heavy silver petrol can,
already half-empty, the stench of raw gasoline filling the room like a
suffocating fog.
“Step back, Luca!” Vanessa screamed, leveling the shotgun directly at his chest.
“Step the hell back, or I pull this trigger and burn this entire house to the
ground!”
Luca didn't flinch. He kept his weapon leveled steadily at the center of her
forehead.
“Put the weapon down, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm despite
the gasoline fumes. “Your father signed the surrender. It’s over.”
“My father is a weak, cowardly old man!” she shrieked, tears of pure rage
spilling down her cheeks. “He spent fifty years building an empire, and he gave
it away to you in twenty minutes! I won't let you have it! I won't let you walk
away with everything while I rot in Montana!”
Her crazed hazel eyes flickered past Luca’s shoulder, locking onto me.
The hatred on her face warped into something monstrous.
“And you,” Vanessa hissed, her finger tightening on the heavy steel trigger of
the shotgun. “You little gutter rat. You were supposed to be dead in the pantry!
You ruined my wedding! You ruined my life!”
She swung the barrel of the shotgun away from Luca, aiming it straight at my
face.
“No!” Luca roared.
In a fraction of a second, Luca lunged forward, throwing his entire body between
me and the barrel of the shotgun just as Vanessa pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The deafening roar of the 12-gauge blast ripped through the bedroom.
Buckshot tore into the heavy oak doorframe inches from my head, wood splinters
exploding like shrapnel.
Luca tackled Vanessa to the floor in a single, violent motion, his broad
shoulders pinning her against the gasoline-soaked Persian rug. He wrenched the
shotgun from her grip with a sharp, sickening twist that forced a shriek of
agony from her lips.
He tossed the shotgun across the room, pinning her wrists behind her back with
one iron hand, while his other hand drew a pair of heavy tactical zip-ties from
his pocket.
Within five seconds, Vanessa was bound hand and foot, thrashing against the
floorboards, screaming curses, spitting venom.
Daniel and three tactical operators burst into the room with raised rifles.
“Secure her!” Luca commanded, breathing heavily as he rose to his feet.
The operators hauled Vanessa up by her elbows, dragging her kicking and
screaming down the hallway toward the waiting transport vans outside.
The bedroom fell dead silent save for the dripping of gasoline from the edge of
the mattress.
I stood frozen against the shattered doorframe, trembling from head to foot,
splinters caught in my hair, staring at the empty space where the blast had
chewed through the wood.
Luca turned slowly toward me.
His charcoal suit was torn along the left shoulder, soot smudged across his
jawline, his dark hair disheveled.
He walked over to me, stopping inches away.
He reached out with trembling, soot-stained fingers and gently cupped both sides
of my face, his thumbs smoothing away the dust from my cheeks.
“Are you hit?” he asked, his voice shaking with a terrifying, raw vulnerability
I had never heard from him before. “Olivia, look at me. Did the shot touch you?”
I looked up into his dark, tortured eyes.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, tears finally breaking free and tracking through the
soot on my skin. “You took the blast for me, Luca.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath, pulling me forward until my forehead
rested against his chest.
His arms wrapped around me like steel bands, holding me so tightly I could feel
the thunderous, desperate beat of his heart against my ribs.
May you like
“Nobody touches you in this house,” Luca murmured into my hair, his voice thick
with unyielding devotion. “Nobody.”
