Chapter 6 - A Bullet for a Ghost
The string quartet stopped playing instantly. The cellist dropped his bow, the clatter echoing loudly across the vaulted ceiling.
Marco Costanza stood just inside the dining room doors, his face flushed with adrenaline and unhinged desperation. Behind him, the two thugs kept their weapons trained on Dante, who had been caught momentarily off-guard near the hallway entrance.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Marco hissed, his hand shaking as he gripped the pistol. “Caldwell signed off. The word went out all the way to Chicago. You were cold in the ground, Moretti!”
Lorenzo didn't stand up. He didn't even drop his wine glass. He simply released Hannah’s hand, placed his napkin neatly beside his plate, and turned his head slowly to look at the intruder with absolute, chilling contempt.
“Caldwell is a surgeon, Marco, not an executioner,” Lorenzo said, his voice dangerously smooth. “And you... you are an idiot who trusted a traitor like Paulie Ramos to finish a job he didn't have the stomach for.”
Marco’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “I’ll finish it myself right now! Say goodbye, Moretti!”
Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Hannah didn't think. All the months of feeling invisible, all the fear of being small and helpless, vanished in a single white-hot flash of instinct. She didn't scream; she didn't cower. With a surge of raw, explosive strength, she grabbed the heavy silver ice bucket filled with ice and champagne bottles and hurled it across the table with all her might.
Crash!
The heavy silver bucket struck Marco squarely in the chest just as he fired. The bullet went wide, shattering a crystal chandelier overhead and raining glittering shards of glass across the Persian rug.
Marco staggered backward, gasping for breath as the ice and heavy silver struck him.
That fraction of a second was all Dante Voss needed.
With lethal efficiency, Dante drew his sidearm and fired twice. Both rounds caught Marco’s armed guards in the chest before they could raise their weapons. They collapsed instantly. Dante’s third shot clipped Marco’s shoulder, spinning the young Costanza envoy around and sending his Beretta clattering across the floor.
Marco hit his knees, clutching his bleeding shoulder, howling in pain.
Lorenzo stood up slowly, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. He walked around the table, his leather shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, until he was standing directly over Marco Costanza.
Marco looked up, trembling violently, tears streaming down his face. “Lorenzo... please... my father... Don Corrado will—”
“Your father is an old man sitting in a townhouse in Chicago who will have a new son by tomorrow morning when he realizes how incompetent you are,” Lorenzo interrupted coldly. He crouched down, grabbing Marco by the collar of his expensive suit and hauling him to his feet. “You brought a gun into my home. You disrupted my dinner. And worst of all... you frightened my guest.”
Lorenzo threw Marco back toward Dante like a piece of garbage.
“Take him to the basement,” Lorenzo ordered, his voice like grinding ice. “And call Don Corrado on speakerphone. Let him hear what happens to people who send children to do a boss's job.”
As Dante dragged the screaming envoy out of the room, the silence settled back over the dining hall. The string musicians were already packing their instruments and scurrying out the service exit.
Lorenzo turned back toward the table.
Hannah was standing beside her chair, her hands shaking slightly, the adrenaline finally starting to recede and leave her trembling.
Lorenzo walked back to her, his expression instantly softening. He reached out, gently taking her face in his hands.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern.
“No,” Hannah whispered, looking up into his dark, intense eyes. “I’m... I’m okay.”
“You threw an ice bucket at a man with a gun,” Lorenzo murmured, a slow, admiring smile spreading across his face. “You have more courage in your little finger than half the capos I’ve buried over the last twenty years.”
“I just... I couldn't let him hurt you,” Hannah said, her cheeks turning crimson. “After everything...”
May you like
Lorenzo leaned down and pressed his lips softly against her forehead. The touch was warm, protective, and entirely real.
“Come with me,” he said, offering her his hand. “There is something I want to show you.”
