Chapter 6 - The Language of Fire
"She won't murder anyone, Carlo," Trent Falcone’s voice cut through the tension, smooth and mocking. "Your precious Bianca is currently on a private jet heading toward Zurich, crying into her champagne because she thinks you didn't love her."
"She's smarter than you, Trent," Carlo said softly. "She knew before she stepped into that elevator."
"It doesn't matter what she knew!" Falcone snapped, the patience finally draining from his voice. "Look at the clock, Carlo! It's 2:38 AM! The Zurich routing servers are live! Speak the authorization phrase into this receiver, or I have my man in Switzerland intercept her plane the moment it lands."
A heavy silence descended over the room.
Through the crack in the door, I saw Carlo’s head drop slightly. For the first time tonight, I saw genuine agony cross his face. He believed I was on that plane. He believed Falcone had men waiting for me in Europe.
He didn't know Frank had died under the bridge. He didn't know I was standing fifteen feet behind him with a submachine gun.
"Leave her out of it," Carlo rasped, his voice breaking. "I'll give you the phrase. Just... let her land."
"That's a good boy," Falcone chuckled, holding a black satellite phone down toward Carlo’s face. "Say it clear. The sun sets over Lake Michigan."
"Sofia," I whispered into my earpiece. "Kill the floor lights."
"Killing power... now," Sofia replied.
BANG.
The master circuit breakers for the entire top three floors blew out with a sharp electrical pop. The penthouse was instantly plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
Screams of confusion erupted from Falcone's guards.
"What the hell?!"
"Emergency lights! Get the backup generator on!"
Before their eyes could adapt to the dark, I pulled the pin on the tactical flashbang grenade, pushed the kitchen door open, and tossed the small metal cylinder into the center of the living room.
"COVER YOUR EYES!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
BOOM!
A blinding, white-hot flash illuminated the living room, followed by a concussive roar that shattered the remaining picture windows and sent a shockwave through the floorboards.
Falcone’s men shrieked in agony, clutching their ears and eyes, completely disoriented by the disorienting burst of light and sound.
I dropped low, bringing my MP5 up.
Pfft-pfft-pfft. Pfft-pfft-pfft.
I shot the two guards standing nearest to the door, their heavy bodies crashing onto the glass coffee table. I swept the barrel to the left, catching a third gunman in the shoulder as he tried to raise his rifle, sending him spinning into the dining room.
"MATTEO!" I roared through the smoke and darkness.
My brother shrieked like a frightened child, dropping his scotch glass and scrambling blindly toward the balcony doors.
Trent Falcone, recovering faster than the others, pulled his silver revolver and fired blindly into the dark toward my position. The heavy .357 bullet tore through the doorframe three inches above my head, showering my face with splinters.
I didn't retreat. I lunged across the dark living room, diving behind the central marble kitchen island just as another bullet ricocheted off the countertop.
"Bianca?!" Carlo's voice boomed through the chaos, raw with shock and terror. "BIANCA, GET OUT OF HERE!"
"Shut up, Carlo!" I yelled back, reloading my magazine with a smooth, practiced motion. "I'm busy saving your ungrateful ass!"
I leaned around the edge of the marble island and emptied six rounds into the darkness where Falcone’s muzzle flash had appeared.
A grunt of pain echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy sound of a body hitting the floor and a gun sliding across the hardwood.
The emergency backup generators kicked on with a low, mechanical hum.
Dim red floor-strip lighting illuminated the destruction.
Four of Falcone’s men lay dead or unconscious on the white rug. Blood splattered our velvet sofa and the glass walls.
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Trent Falcone was clutching his bleeding leg near the private elevator, his face pale, frantically pressing the elevator call button.
And sitting tied to the iron chair in the center of the room, his eyes wide with a mixture of absolute horror and profound adoration, was my husband.
