Chapter 18 - A mother's ferocity
"Move!" Damiano shouted, grabbing Sophia’s arm as the remaining Castiglione mercenaries fell back toward the entrance courtyard, realizing their tactical advantage had evaporated. Moretti reinforcements poured in from the side wings, cutting off the front exit and trapping the surviving intruders in a vicious crossfire. But Damiano wasn't concerned with the mercenaries in the foyer; his sole focus was the path leading down into the subterranean vault where Emma was hidden. The traitor Luca was wounded, armed, and heading straight for the child.
They sprinted through the haze of smoke and spent gunpowder, descending the winding stone steps into the subterranean tunnels beneath the manor. The blast door had been manually forced half-open with an iron crowbar. On the floor just outside the vault lay two of the sentries Damiano had posted—unconscious from blunt-force trauma to the skull. Inside the dimly lit chamber, the heavy reinforced door stood ajar. Sophia’s soul turned to ice. "Emma!" she screamed, abandoning all caution and lunging into the room with her weapon raised.
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Inside, the room was bathed in the red glow of emergency backup lights. Luca was cornered against the far steel wall, holding a bloodstained tactical blade in his left hand, his right arm dangling uselessly from Sophia’s gunshot. Sitting on the bed, trembling violently but clutching her plush bunny with both hands, was Emma. The little girl was crying silently, her eyes wide with terror, but she had not screamed. Around her neck, the silver Moretti crest medallion dangled, catching the faint crimson light. Luca was breathing heavily, his back pressed against the safe, his face twisted in a desperate, cornered sneer.
"Stay back, Don Moretti!" Luca choked out, waving the blade wildly. "You don't understand what this child is! Castiglione promised me fifty million just to bring her hair and a blood sample to the offshore lab! She isn't just Bellini’s granddaughter! Look at the medallion, you blind fool! Look at the engraving on the back!" Damiano stepped forward slowly, his gun leveled directly between Luca’s eyes. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "Drop the knife, Luca. Drop it, and I might let you die quickly."
