Chapter 9 - The Siege of the Estate
The industrial kitchen of the Drake Hotel was a maze of stainless steel prep tables, roaring ventilation hoods, and swinging walk-in freezer doors.
Steam hissed from a ruptured pipe, obscuring the corridor in a ghostly white fog.
Luca moved through the steam like a phantom, his footsteps silent, his gun raised at high-ready.
A shadow moved behind the commercial dishwashers.
*Bang! Bang!*
A bullet tore through the stainless steel hood inches from Luca’s head, showering him in sparks.
Luca dropped into a combat crouch, returning fire with lethal precision. A mercenary collapsed behind a stack of industrial baking trays with a wet thud.
Suddenly, from behind a heavy dry-storage door, Marco Vane lunged forward.
He didn't fire his gun—it had clicked empty. Instead, he swung a heavy steel meat cleaver directly at Luca’s neck.
Luca ducked, the blade slicing clean through the lapel of his tuxedo.
In a fraction of a second, the two men collided with the force of two freight trains.
Luca drove his shoulder into Marco’s chest, slamming him against the steel prep table. Pots, pans, and chef’s knives crashed to the tile floor in a deafening cacophony.
Marco snarled, his scarred face contorted with madness. He drove his knee into Luca’s ribs and gouged his thumbs toward Luca’s eyes.
Luca roared, catching Marco’s wrists and delivering a brutal headbutt that shattered Marco’s nose in a spray of blood.
Marco stumbled backward, his hand desperately scrabbling across the prep table until his fingers wrapped around a heavy, foot-long butcher knife.
“You took everything from me, Moretti!” Marco spat through broken, bloody teeth. “Your father stole my docks! You stole my birthright! I should have slit your throat five years ago!”
“Your birthright was treason, Marco,” Luca growled, circling him with cold, predatory discipline. “And your sister is currently rotting in my cellar.”
Marco screamed in rage and lunged forward, thrusting the butcher knife toward Luca’s heart.
Luca sidestepped, trapping Marco’s arm, but Marco twisted violently, throwing all his weight forward, driving Luca backward against a high metal shelving unit.
The heavy steel unit tipped, crashing down between them, pinning Luca’s gun arm beneath a mountain of heavy canned goods and steel bars.
Marco broke free.
He raised the butcher knife with both hands, towering over Luca, his eyes wild with psychotic triumph.
“Die, you bastard!”
*Crack!*
The sharp, concussive report of a small-caliber gunshot echoed through the steamy kitchen.
Marco Vane froze.
His eyes widened in shock. The butcher knife slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering onto the tiles.
He slowly looked down at his right shoulder. A neat, smoking bullet hole had punched clean through his collarbone, severing the brachial nerve.
Ten feet away, standing firmly on both feet with her back straight and her hands locked around the silver derringer, stood me.
My hands were shaking, the barrel was smoking, but my eyes never wavered.
“Step away from him,” I said, my voice steady, cold, and absolute.
Marco stared at me in disbelief. “You... the little maid...?”
Before Marco could take another breath, Luca erupted from beneath the fallen shelving unit like an enraged titan.
With a roar that shook the room, Luca grabbed Marco by the throat, lifted him clean off the floor, and drove him headfirst through the reinforced safety glass of the kitchen exit doors.
Marco crashed through the shattered glass, landing broken, bleeding, and unconscious on the concrete alleyway outside.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Daniel and four heavily armed Moretti guards burst through the kitchen doors, their rifles raised, taking control of the scene within seconds.
Luca stood in the rain lashing through the shattered exit. His tuxedo was torn, his knuckles were bloody, and rain soaked his hair.
He didn't look at Marco Vane lying defeated in the alley.
He slowly turned around and looked at me.
The silver derringer was still in my hands. My green velvet gown was splattered with water and soot, but I stood there unharmed, breathing hard.
Luca walked toward me.
He gently reached out, his bloody, trembling fingers taking the small gun from my hands and handing it to Daniel without looking away from my eyes.
Then, right there in the middle of the ruined hotel kitchen, amid the hiss of steam and the wail of sirens, Luca Moretti pulled me into his arms and kissed me.
It was a fierce, desperate, breathtaking kiss that stole every drop of air from my lungs. His lips were hot, demanding, and filled with an intoxicating blend of relief, passion, and raw adoration.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his wet hair, surrendering completely to the overwhelming heat of his embrace.
When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, his dark eyes were shining with unshed tears.
“You saved my life again, Claire,” he whispered against my lips.
“I told you,” I breathed, a smile breaking through my tears. “I’m not just a maid.”
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“No,” Luca said fiercely, kissing my forehead, my eyelids, and my lips once more. “You are my savior. You are my equal. And you are the only woman who will ever wear my ring.”
***
