Chapter 9 - The Shot That Changed the War
Victor Salvatore fired.
The muzzle flash lit the abandoned steel plant for half a heartbeat, turning the rusted beams and broken catwalks white.
Adrien moved before the sound reached him.
The bullet tore through the shoulder of his tactical vest instead of his chest, spinning him sideways but failing to knock him down. Victor stared in disbelief, still gripping the pistol with both trembling hands.
Adrien straightened.
“You had one chance.”
Victor fired again.
Click.
Empty.
The terror on Victor’s face was almost childlike.
Adrien crossed the distance in three steps, ripped the weapon from his hands, and slammed him against the railing.
Victor cried out.
Fifty feet below them, rainwater covered the bottom of the old slag pit like black glass.
“Adrien!” Dante shouted somewhere inside the mill.
Victor looked desperately toward the sound.
Then back at Adrien.
“You kill me and Donati won’t be your problem anymore.”
Adrien’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Victor laughed breathlessly.
“You really think Carlo planned this?”
Adrien tightened his grip.
“Talk.”
“Carlo is a dog. He bites wherever his owner points.”
“Who owns him?”
Victor smiled despite the blood running from his mouth.
“You’re already dead.”
Adrien dragged him away from the railing.
“Name.”
Victor’s expression changed.
Fear replaced arrogance.
Not fear of Adrien.
Fear of someone else.
That interested Adrien far more.
“Who?” Adrien repeated.
Victor whispered one word.
“Bellini.”
Adrien became still.
Stefano Bellini.
The oldest surviving member of the Chicago Commission.
A man who attended Adrien’s wedding.
A man who kissed Eleanor’s cheek every Christmas.
A man Lorenzo Moretti once called brother.
Dante appeared at the end of the furnace corridor with two armed men.
“We’ve secured Carlo. Lucian is alive. Three of ours are injured.”
Adrien never looked away from Victor.
“Take him.”
Victor suddenly grabbed Adrien’s coat.
“You don’t understand! Bellini knows about the folio!”
Adrien froze.
Dante did too.
“How?” Adrien asked.
Victor swallowed.
“He knew Lorenzo divided the records.”
“Who told him?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrien slammed Victor against the steel railing again.
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear!”
Victor’s voice cracked.
“Bellini approached me in Marseille eight months ago. He knew I was broke. He knew about Marcus. He knew everything.”
Adrien felt the pieces shift inside his mind.
Victor had not returned because he had miraculously rebuilt an organization.
Someone had funded him.
Someone had supplied intelligence.
Someone had known exactly which wound to open inside Marcus Vale.
Bellini.
Adrien released Victor.
“Dante, keep him alive.”
Victor stared.
“You’re not killing me?”
“No.”
For the first time that night, Victor looked genuinely horrified.
Adrien leaned close.
“You’re going to tell me every conversation, every payment, every name.”
Dante dragged Victor away.
Outside, the battle was over.
Carlo Donati sat on his knees beside an overturned truck with his hands restrained behind his back.
Lucian leaned against the damaged transport while a medic wrapped his bleeding thigh.
Adrien approached Carlo.
The Donati underboss looked up.
“You should have killed Salvatore when you had him.”
Adrien crouched.
“Bellini sent you.”
Carlo’s face changed.
Barely.
But enough.
Adrien smiled coldly.
“That answers one question.”
Carlo said nothing.
“Why?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try.”
Carlo glanced at the Moretti soldiers surrounding them.
Then toward Victor being loaded into another vehicle.
“Bellini says you’re destroying the balance.”
“What balance?”
“The old rules.”
Adrien laughed once.
“You ambushed an armored convoy with military weapons on an interstate.”
Carlo’s jaw tightened.
“Because Bellini said tonight was the only chance.”
“For what?”
Carlo looked at him.
“To stop you before Isabella opened Lorenzo’s files.”
Adrien felt an unexpected chill.
Nobody outside the estate should have known Isabella possessed the folio.
Victor only learned hours earlier.
Marcus knew.
Dante knew.
Eleanor knew.
And Isabella.
Someone had communicated with Bellini after the siege began.
Adrien turned slowly toward his men.
Thirty loyal faces.
At least he had believed they were loyal.
His phone vibrated.
Isabella.
He answered immediately.
“Bella?”
Her voice was controlled.
Too controlled.
“Adrien, someone entered your father’s study.”
His stomach tightened.
“When?”
“While you were gone.”
“What was taken?”
“The folio is safe.”
Adrien exhaled.
“But someone opened the wall behind Lorenzo’s portrait.”
Adrien stared into the gray light of approaching dawn.
There had never been anything behind that portrait.
At least nothing Adrien knew about.
“What did they find?”
Isabella’s answer came quietly.
“A key.”
Adrien looked toward the Moretti men.
The war had changed again.
Victor Salvatore was not the enemy.
Carlo Donati was not the enemy.
They were pieces.
Someone inside Adrien’s world had been feeding Stefano Bellini information for years.
And before sunrise, that person had entered the Moretti house while Isabella and Eleanor were still recovering from an armed siege.
Adrien’s voice became ice.
“Lock the estate.”
“Already done.”
“No one leaves.”
“No one will.”
Adrien looked at Dante.
“Get everyone home.”
Dante saw his expression.
“What happened?”
Adrien chambered a fresh magazine into his pistol.
“We have a traitor.”
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This time, he was not looking outside the family.
He was looking directly into it.
