Chapter 7 - The Master Arises
"The button on the stand," I said, keeping my weapon trained on Dr. Vance's chest. "What does it do?"
Dr. Vance swallowed hard, his skin suddenly glistening with cold sweat. "Don't touch that. It calls his personal hit squad. If you hit that switch, nobody in this house leaves alive."
"Good," I replied.
Without breaking eye contact with Vance, I reached out with my left hand and slammed my palm down onto the titanium button. A low, pulsing green strobe illuminated beneath the nightstand, and an automated encrypted signal broadcast across private tactical frequencies throughout the tri-state area.
Suddenly, footsteps pounded down the corridor outside. Salvatore Moretti strode into the room, flanked by two armed men with submachine guns.
"Vance, why isn't this done yet?!" Salvatore barked, then froze as he saw me holding Vance at gunpoint. Salvatore's eyes narrowed into slits of pure venom. "You cockroach. You managed to slip out of the basement. Where is your daughter?"
"She's already outside, Salvatore," I said through clenched teeth. "Marco Bellini has her. And the entire world knows what you did."
Salvatore let out a cold, mocking laugh that echoed above the wailing fire sirens. "Marco is stuck outside my reinforced gates like a stray dog. And even if your brat reached the garden, my patrol dogs will tear her to pieces before she takes ten steps."
The moment those words left Salvatore’s mouth, a terrifying sound tore through the room.
It wasn't a monitor alarm. It wasn't the fire siren.
It was the raw, primal roar of a dying man who had found his vengeance.
From the bed, Lorenzo Moretti surged upward with superhuman fury. The sheer surge of adrenaline had burned through the lingering chemical paralysis. His massive right hand shot out, ripping the intravenous lines violently from his forearm, spraying crimson droplets across the pristine white sheets. With a savage sweep of his arm, he grabbed the heavy stainless-steel IV pole and swung it through the air with bone-crushing force.
The steel pole caught Salvatore squarely across the side of the head with a sickening crack.
The mafia uncle went crashing into the hardwood floor, screaming in agony as blood poured from his shattered jaw. The two guards raised their weapons, but before they could squeeze their triggers, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the courtyard blew inward in a shower of glittering shards.
Three tactical operators in full black combat gear rappelled into the room from the roof, their suppressed weapons firing with deadly precision: thwip, thwip, thwip.
Both of Salvatore’s guards dropped instantly to the floor. Marco Bellini stepped through the shattered window frame, an assault rifle tucked against his shoulder, stepping over the broken glass with absolute composure.
And cradled securely in Marco's left arm was Mia, clutching her gray rabbit Barnaby, unhurt and wide-eyed.
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"Mommy!" Mia cried out, reaching her arms toward me.
I dropped the gun, fell to my knees, and caught my daughter against my chest, burying my face in her hair as tears of overwhelming relief flooded down my face.
