Chapter 7 - A Moretti Loves With a Knife
The silver pistol in Derek’s hand never fired.
From the shadow of the library doorway behind him, a hand appeared. It was a pale, elegant hand, the cuff of the white silk shirt immaculately clean despite the chaos of the night.
Matteo’s fingers closed around Derek’s throat from behind, his grip so sudden and absolute that Derek’s eyes instantly bulged. With a single, fluid movement of his shoulders, Matteo lifted the heavier man off his feet and slammed him into the stone wall of the landing.
The silver pistol dropped from Derek’s fingers, clattering into the darkness below.
Matteo didn't use a gun. He held a long, thin steel stiletto knife in his right hand—the ancient weapon of the Sicilian bosses. Before Derek could draw breath to scream, Matteo drove the blade straight through the center of Derek’s left hand, pinning it securely to the heavy mahogany paneling of the wall.
Derek let out a high, thin shriek of agony, his legs dangling above the stairs as he hung from his own hand like a specimen on a board.
"I told you once before, Derek," Matteo whispered, his voice completely calm, his gray eyes reflecting the cold moonlight through the broken windows. "You do not touch what belongs to me. And you do not bring noise into my wife's home."
He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding Norah where she crouched behind the marble pillar. "Are you harmed?"
"No," she sobbed, her tears finally breaking through. "No, Matteo. The baby is okay."
Matteo nodded once. He turned back to Derek, who was weeping, his body shaking with a violent shock. "Your cousin Silvano sent sixty men tonight, Derek. Fifty of them are already dead in the orchard house. The other ten are currently being hunted through the woods by my dogs. You are the last one left alive on my property. Do you know why?"
"Please... take it out... please!" Derek begged, his eyes fixed on the knife through his palm.
"Because I wanted you to deliver a final message to Silvano before I finish this," Matteo said smoothly. He reached up, his fingers casually ripping the heavy black brace off Derek’s broken right wrist, causing the man to scream so loudly his voice cracked. "Tell him that the treaty is dead. Tell him that the Moretti family is coming across the river at sunrise. And tell him that I am bringing the fire."
With a sudden, brutal jerk, Matteo pulled the stiletto knife out of the wall. Derek collapsed down the stairs like a broken doll, his blood staining the pristine white marble as he rolled toward the lower hallway where the remaining Moretti guards were waiting with heavy plastic zip-ties.
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Matteo walked over to Norah, his white shirt covered in dust and dark red splatters. He knelt down beside her, his long fingers gently lifting her chin so she had to look into his gray eyes.
"The safe room is secure now," he murmured, his hand moving down to rest over hers on her stomach. His palm was warm, and for the first time, Norah felt a distinct, steady tremor in his touch. He was trembling. Not from fear of the men who had breached his walls, but from the terrifying realization of what he had almost lost. "Go with Bianca. I must go to the city. I will return before the child wakes."
