Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE IN THE BELLANDI LIBRARY
The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the massive library.
“They killed her?” Adrian repeated, his voice devoid of mourning, replaced instantly by tactical calculation.
“The Russians don’t leave loose ends,” Ettore said, stepping into the room and locking the heavy oak doors behind him. “Caterina failed them. They executed her to send a message. And now they want the ledger to secure their billions before the FBI sees it.”
“They know the ledger is here,” I realized, my blood running cold.
“They tracked her transport,” Ettore confirmed. “They have our perimeter surrounded. We have ten loyal men inside the house. The Russians have at least forty outside.”
Panic clawed at my throat. We had survived Caterina, only to be trapped by the monsters she had invited into the city.
“Where is Leo?” I asked frantically.
“Giulia took him down to the panic room in the basement,” Ettore assured me. “They are safe behind two feet of steel. But if the Russians breach the main house, they’ll bring breaching charges. We have to hold them off until the police arrive.”
“The police aren’t coming, Dad,” Adrian said grimly, looking out the massive library windows. “If the Russians are moving openly, they’ve jammed the cell towers and paid off the local precinct to ignore the calls for the next hour.”
Adrian was right. My phone showed zero signal.
We were completely on our own.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the front of the estate. The floor violently shook, sending books crashing from the high shelves.
“They blew the front gates!” Adrian yelled over the noise.
He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a heavy assault rifle from a hidden compartment behind the desk, checking the magazine with his one good hand.
Ettore pulled two silver pistols from his coat. The seventy-year-old Don looked perfectly calm, stepping back into the war he had fought his entire life.
“Nora,” Adrian said, turning to me. He tossed a small, black handgun onto the leather sofa. “Do you know how to use that?”
“No,” I stammered, staring at the weapon.
“Safety off, point, and pull,” Adrian instructed rapidly. “Only use it if they get past us.”
Gunfire erupted from the grand foyer downstairs. The heavy thud of boots echoed up the marble staircase.
“They’re inside,” Ettore said.
Adrian moved to the library doors, pressing his back against the wall. Ettore took the opposite side.
I crouched behind the massive mahogany desk, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the cold metal of the handgun.
The heavy oak doors of the library burst open.
Two heavily armed Russian mercenaries stepped into the room.
Before they could even raise their weapons, Ettore and Adrian fired perfectly synchronized shots. Both mercenaries dropped instantly to the carpet.
“Move!” Adrian shouted.
We abandoned the library, sprinting down the second-floor hallway toward the back stairs. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of cordite.
As we reached the landing, three more mercenaries appeared at the bottom of the stairs, opening fire.
Bullets chewed through the wooden banister, showering us in splinters.
Adrian pushed me to the floor, returning fire with his rifle. Ettore provided covering fire, taking out one of the men on the stairs.
But there were too many.
“We’re pinned!” Ettore shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire.
Adrian’s rifle clicked empty. He cursed, tossing it aside and drawing his sidearm.
“Nora,” Adrian yelled, grabbing my shoulder. “When I give the signal, you run to the master suite at the end of the hall. Lock the reinforced door. Dad and I will hold them here.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face.
“You are Bellandi blood!” Adrian roared, his eyes blazing with fierce desperation. “You survive! That’s an order!”
Before I could argue, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway behind us.
We were flanked.
Two mercenaries rounded the corner, their rifles raised, aiming directly at Ettore’s back.
Adrian was out of position. He couldn’t turn in time.
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.
I raised the small black handgun with both hands, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger three times.
The loud cracks deafened me. The recoil sent pain shooting up my arms.
When I opened my eyes, both mercenaries were lying on the floor.
I had hit one in the shoulder and the other in the leg. They were down, groaning in pain.
Ettore spun around, staring at the men I had just shot, and then looked at me.
A slow, terrifyingly proud smile spread across the old Don’s face.
“Vincenzo’s daughter,” Ettore murmured proudly.
But the victory was short-lived.
From the smoke at the bottom of the stairs, a massive figure emerged.
It was the Russian commander. He was holding a grenade launcher, aiming it directly at the second-floor landing where we were trapped.
“Down!” Adrian screamed, throwing his body over mine.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the explosion that would end our lives.
But the explosion didn’t come.
Instead, a single, deafening gunshot echoed from the shattered skylight above us.
The Russian commander dropped the grenade launcher, clutching his chest, and collapsed backward down the stairs.
Silence fell over the hallway.
We slowly looked up.
Standing on the roof, peering down through the broken glass of the skylight, was a man holding a sniper rifle.
It wasn’t one of Ettore’s men.
It was the restaurant manager from Bellissimo. The man who had mocked me and cut my hours for the past two years.
He lowered his rifle and yelled down to us.
“The FBI is breaching the rear perimeter in sixty seconds, Don Ettore! The remaining Russians are fleeing!”
I stared in absolute shock.
Adrian helped me to my feet, brushing the plaster dust from my hair.
“What is my manager doing with a sniper rifle?” I choked out.
Ettore chuckled softly, holstering his pistols.
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