Chapter 10 - The Ambush at Midnight
The first explosion hit before the echo of Dante’s warning even faded from the library.
It wasn't a standard breach. It was a deafening, earth-shattering detonation that tore through the eastern wing of the villa. The impact threw me violently across the room. I hit the heavy mahogany bookcase, books raining down on me in a chaotic shower of leather and paper. The antique stained-glass windows shattered inward, sending a deadly wave of razor-sharp shrapnel flying across the Persian rugs.
The lights instantly died, plunging the estate into pitch blackness, save for the sudden, terrifying glow of orange flames erupting from the courtyard.
“Clara!”
Ricardo’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. Strong hands grabbed my arms, hauling me off the floor with brute force. He didn't ask if I was hurt. There was no time. He shoved his secondary weapon—a cold, heavy Glock—into my hands.
“Safety off. Point and pull. Do not hesitate,” Ricardo commanded, his eyes reflecting the hellish fire outside. The vulnerability from just moments ago was entirely gone. The Don of the Moretti family had returned, and he was ready to kill.
“Leo,” I gasped, panic clawing at my throat. “He’s down the hall!”
“Dante!” Ricardo roared over the sound of automatic gunfire that was now erupting from the lemon groves. “Hold the corridor! Do not let them reach the stairs!”
“On it, Boss!” Dante racked the slide of his assault rifle and sprinted into the hallway, plunging directly into the line of fire.
Ricardo grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the library and into the smoke-filled corridor. The air was thick with the smell of pulverized stone and burning timber. Below us, on the ground floor, the chaotic shouts of Volkov’s Russian mercenaries clashed with the fierce, defensive roars of the Sicilian guards.
We sprinted toward Leo’s room.
A shadow stepped out from the alcove near the staircase. He was dressed in black tactical gear, raising a suppressed submachine gun directly at us.
Ricardo didn't break stride. He raised his handgun and fired three rapid shots in fluid succession. The mercenary dropped like a stone, tumbling backward down the marble staircase.
We burst into Leo’s bedroom. The explosion had blown out his windows, and the heavy velvet curtains were catching fire. Leo was huddled in the corner between his bed and the wall, his hands clapped over his ears, his small face buried in his knees. He wasn't screaming. The sheer terror had shocked him into absolute silence.
I dropped the gun and slid across the floor, pulling him tightly to my chest. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here. Mommy’s here.” The word slipped out before I could stop it, but in the chaos, it felt entirely true. I lifted him into my arms, his legs wrapping around my waist like a vice.
“Under the rug,” Ricardo barked, moving toward the center of the room. He kicked the heavy rug aside, revealing a seamless square cut into the ancient stone floor. He crouched, finding a hidden iron ring, and hauled it upward with a guttural grunt of effort.
A dark, narrow stone staircase was revealed, spiraling down into the black abyss beneath the estate.
“The catacombs,” Ricardo said, turning to me. “They lead under the cliffside to a private dock. There is a speedboat waiting. Go.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I yelled over the sound of another explosion rocking the foundation of the villa.
Ricardo grabbed my face, his thumb smearing soot and ash across my cheek. His eyes were wide, burning with a frantic, desperate need to see us safe.
“You are my wife,” he roared, the title carrying the weight of a blood oath. “Your life is his life now. Get my son to the boat. I will hold them off and follow you. Go, Clara!”
He kissed me—a hard, bruising, desperate clash of teeth and lips that tasted of smoke and adrenaline. It was a kiss that felt terrifyingly like a goodbye.
He shoved me toward the hidden stairwell.
I clutched Leo to my chest, grabbed the Glock from the floor, and began the terrifying descent into the darkness. The air in the catacombs was freezing and damp, smelling of ancient earth and salt water. The heavy stone trapdoor slammed shut above us, plunging us into total darkness.
I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam illuminated narrow, claustrophobic walls lined with the bones of forgotten ancestors.
“Keep your eyes closed, Leo,” I whispered, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “We’re just going on a dark adventure.”
We ran. My lungs burned, and my legs ached under the weight of the terrified child, but the distant, muffled sounds of gunfire above kept my feet moving. Every step felt like an eternity. I kept waiting for the sounds of pursuit behind us, but there was only the dripping of water and the frantic hammering of my own heart.
Finally, the tunnel opened up into a massive sea cave. The crashing sound of the Mediterranean waves echoed off the jagged rock walls. Tied to a wooden dock was a sleek, black speedboat, swaying violently in the turbulent tide.
I scrambled onto the dock, setting Leo down in the back of the boat and wrapping him in a heavy tarp I found under the seats. I turned back toward the tunnel entrance, raising the gun, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold it straight.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
The gunfire above had stopped. The silence was more terrifying than the explosions.
If Ricardo is dead, they will find us.
Suddenly, a heavy, dragging sound echoed from the dark tunnel.
I raised the gun, aiming the flashlight beam directly at the opening, my finger tightening on the trigger. “Stop right there!” I screamed, my voice cracking.
A massive figure stumbled out of the darkness and collapsed onto his knees on the wooden dock.
“Ricardo!”
I dropped the gun and ran to him. He was covered in blood. His white shirt was torn to shreds, and a dark, spreading crimson stain covered his left side. He leaned heavily against the damp stone wall, his breathing ragged and shallow.
“Start the boat,” Ricardo gasped, coughing up a fleck of blood. He forced himself to look at me, his eyes glassy but stubbornly fixed. “Volkov… underestimated the Sicilians. But we have to move.”
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I didn't ask questions. I hooked my arms under his shoulders, ignoring the burn in my own muscles, and dragged him the last few feet into the boat. I fumbled with the keys in the ignition, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. The engine roared to life with a deafening growl.
I threw off the mooring lines and slammed the throttle forward. The boat shot out of the hidden sea cave, launching into the dark, violent waves of the open ocean, leaving the burning ruin of the Moretti estate behind us.
