Chapter 8 - Blood in the Wine Cellar
The panic inside the dark, cold safe room was worse than the pain of the bullet wounds.
For forty minutes, I sat on a wooden crate in the subterranean concrete bunker, clutching the silver revolver with both hands, staring at the heavy steel door. The air smelled of damp earth, old oak barrels, and copper.
Above me, the faint, muffled thuds of explosions and heavy automatic gunfire shook dust down from the ceiling rafters.
Then, the noise stopped.
An agonizing ten minutes of complete, total silence followed.
I held my breath, my finger trembling against the cool metal of the trigger guard.
CLANK.
The heavy iron lock on the safe room door turned slowly.
I scrambled backward off the crate, raising the revolver with both hands, aiming it straight at the center of the wooden panel.
"Dominic?" I called out, my voice cracking with horror. "Dominic, is that you?"
The door swung open slowly on its rusted hinges.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the wine cellar beyond, was Enzo.
His expensive suit jacket was gone, replaced by a dark sweater torn at the shoulder. He was holding a large automatic pistol in his right hand, but his face was slick with sweat, his eyes wide and frantic.
"Clara," Enzo panted, stepping into the safe room. "Thank God you’re alive. We need to go. Now."
I lowered the gun slightly, relief washing through me. "Enzo! Is Dominic okay? Where is Isabella?"
Enzo didn't answer. He took two steps closer to me, his pistol staying raised at his side.
"Dominic is busy upstairs cleaning up the mess," Enzo said, his voice strangely flat, devoid of its usual warmth. "He sent me to get you. The backup car is waiting at the rear garden gate."
I looked at Enzo’s face. In the dim yellow light of the emergency bulb, I noticed something on his left wrist.
His watch—a gold Rolex Dominic had given him for his ten-year anniversary with the family—was gone. In its place was a heavy leather band with a silver crest: the serpent crest of the Costa family.
I took a slow step backward, keeping the silver revolver raised.
"You," I whispered, the terrifying truth dawning on me like a wave of liquid ice. "You were the rat."
Enzo stopped mid-step. A dark, bitter shadow crossed his features.
"I didn't have a choice, Clara," Enzo spat, his voice rising in defensive anger. "Costa has my son! He kidnapped my boy three weeks ago in Miami! He told me he would send me his fingers one by one unless I turned over Arthur Vance’s daughter!"
"Enzo, please..." I begged, my hand shaking so hard the barrel of the gun wobbled in the air.
"Dominic is blind!" Enzo yelled, taking another step forward, raising his gun straight at my head. "He’s burning down our entire empire for a twenty-six-year-old girl he doesn't even know! He’s going to get us all killed! Hand over the gun, Clara, and walk out to the car. Costa just wants the trust fund signatures—he promised he won't hurt you!"
"He's lying to you, Enzo," a deep, terrifying voice echoed from the shadows of the wine cellar behind him.
Enzo froze, his body rigid with instant, paralyzing terror.
Dominic stepped out from behind a massive oak wine barrel. He was covered in black soot and blood, a deep cut bleeding down his temple, but his hazel eyes were glowing with a feral, terrifying rage.
In his hand was a heavy 12-gauge tactical shotgun.
"Dominic..." Enzo choked out, slowly turning his head. "Dominic... please... he has my boy..."
"You brought hitmen into my home, Enzo," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper that vibrated through the stone floor. "You put my mother and my wife in danger. There is no forgiveness for that under heaven or earth."
BOOM.
The shotgun roared in the enclosed space.
Enzo was hurled backward onto the cold concrete floor, his gun clattering across the stone tiles.
I covered my ears, screaming into the cloud of white gunsmoke that filled the safe room.
Dominic didn't look down at Enzo’s body. He racking another shell into the chamber with a crisp metallic clack, stepped over his former caporegime, and dropped to his knees in front of me.
He grabbed my face in his blood-stained hands, inspecting every inch of my body for injuries.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice desperate, trembling with an emotion I had never heard from him before. "Clara! Did he touch you?!"
"No," I sobbed, collapsing against his chest, burying my face into his blood-soaked tactical vest. "No... I’m okay... I’m okay..."
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Dominic wrapped his massive arms around me, holding me so tight I could feel the frantic, pounding beat of his heart against my cheek.
"It’s over, Clara," he whispered into my hair, his lips pressing against my crown. "I’m ending this tonight. Once and for all."
