Chapter 5 - The Breach
The drive back to the North Shore estate was a blur of screaming tires and flashing headlights. Marco pushed the massive SUV to its absolute limits, taking the winding cliff roads at speeds that made the vehicle fish-tail against the wet gravel. In the back seat, Bella clutched the door handle, her mind racing with a terrifying image of Francesca alone in the glass conservatory, surrounded by nothing but her orchids and the dark ocean.
When they roared through the shattered iron gates of the estate, the scene was chaotic. One of the Moretti security vehicles was crashed into the stone fountain, its windshield shattered. Three men in dark raincoats were running across the manicured lawn toward the terrace doors of the main house.
Vincent didn't wait for the vehicle to come to a complete stop. He kicked the door open, springing into the rain with his pistol raised. Two sharp, deafening cracks echoed through the night air, and one of the running men dropped into the wet grass, clutching his thigh with a ragged shriek.
"Bella! Stay in the car!" Marco shouted as he drew his own weapon and followed Vincent into the darkness.
But Bella couldn't stay. Through the massive glass windows of the second-floor library, she saw a flicker of movement—a shadow moving toward the private rooms where Francesca kept her personal archive.
Bella kicked her door open, her thin shoes sinking into the mud as she ran toward the side kitchen entrance. She knew the layout of the house better than any intruder; she had spent the last two weeks memorizing every hallway, every pantry shortcut, and every hidden service stairs while managing the household accounts.
She slipped through the dark kitchen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The house was completely silent inside, save for the distant, muffled sound of gunfire from the front lawn. She climbed the narrow wooden spiral stairs that led from the pantry straight into the back wall of the library.
When she pushed the hidden panel open, she froze.
A man was standing in front of Francesca’s heavy oak desk. He was young, with a jagged scar running from his jawline down to his throat—Silvano Romano’s younger cousin, Enzo. He had a heavy iron crowbar in his hand, and he was violently smashing the locks on the private wall safe where the family’s old real estate titles were kept.
"Looking for these?" a cold, steady voice spoke from the corner of the room.
Francesca Moretti sat in a high-backed leather chair near the dark fireplace. She had a small, ancient silver revolver resting on her lap, her hand perfectly steady, her face as calm as if she were waiting for her morning tea.
Enzo spun around, his face twisting into a sneer as he raised the crowbar. "You old witch. You think that toy is going to stop me? My cousin wants the valley titles. Give them to me, or I’ll paint this library with your brains."
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He took a step toward her.
Bella didn't think. She didn't calculate the risks. She reached out, grabbed a heavy bronze statue of a rising phoenix from the shelf beside the hidden door, and threw her entire weight forward, slamming the heavy metal object directly into the back of Enzo’s skull.
