Chapter 15 - Blood on the Silk
The revelation struck Don Bellandi like a physical blow. He staggered backward half a step, knocking over a crystal champagne flute that shattered violently against the marble floor.
"Elena..." Bellandi choked out, his weathered face draining of color. "That’s impossible. She died thirty years ago."
"She died fifteen years ago, in a tenement three blocks from your luxury penthouse," Mara retorted, her voice icy and precise. "She died coughing up blood while you counted the profits from your loan-sharking operations. You threw her away like garbage. And now, the bloodline you discarded stands here, holding more power than your entire failing syndicate."
The room erupted into furious, hushed murmurs. Don Corvi realized the ground was slipping from beneath them. If Mara was a Bellandi heir, Salvatore wasn't just marrying a common maid—he was legitimately integrating the Bellandi claim into the Moretti syndicate, effectively isolating Corvi’s faction.
"This is a farce!" Corvi roared, slamming his walking stick on the floor. "You brought an illegitimate stray to mock the Commission, Moretti! We do not accept this!"
"I did not ask for your acceptance, Corvi," Salvatore growled, taking a single, menacing step forward. "I came here to deliver an edict. Touch anything that belongs to Mara, speak her name without respect, and I will hang you from the Brooklyn Bridge by your own intestines."
Suddenly, the crystal chandeliers overhead flickered and went out.
The ballroom plunged into pitch darkness. Screams tore through the crowd as the heavy roar of gunfire shattered the silence.
*Traitorous ambush.*
In a split second, before the panic could swallow them, Salvatore’s powerful arm snaked around Mara’s waist. He pulled her hard against his chest, shielding her entire body with his broad back as bullets tore through the silk drapes and pulverized the mirrors behind them.
"Down!" Salvatore barked near her ear.
Mara didn't scream. Her heart was racing like a trapped bird, but the survival instincts forged through years of hardship kicked in instantly. She dropped low, her hands finding Salvatore’s waist. She felt the heavy, cool steel of the spare Beretta tucked into the small of his back.
"Salvatore, behind the bar!" she yelled over the deafening cacophony of shattering glass and gunfire. "Three shadows moving with suppressors!"
Salvatore drew his primary weapon in one fluid, deadly motion. Without hesitating, he trusted her vision, spinning and firing three double-taps into the darkness. Three sickening thuds followed as the hitmen crumpled to the floor behind the mahogany bar.
Emergency backup generators kicked on with a low hum, bathing the room in an eerie, blood-red emergency light.
Luca burst through the side doors, leading six heavily armed Moretti soldiers with automatic rifles. "Boss! They cut the perimeter lines! Corvi’s men are trying to breach the lobby!"
Salvatore looked down at Mara. Her midnight-blue dress was dusted with glass and plaster, but her eyes were ablaze with pure, unyielding fury. In her right hand, she held his spare Beretta, leveled steadily toward the VIP lounge where Don Corvi was scrambling toward a service exit.
"No one touches my family," Mara whispered fiercely.
May you like
Salvatore looked at her, his heart swelling with an intoxicating mixture of awe, desire, and bloodlust. "Take Luca and get to the armored car," he commanded, his voice dark and deadly. "I am going to finish what Corvi started."
***
