Chapter 8 - The Price of Blood
The brass lamp struck Vanessa's forearm with a sickening crunch.
She screamed, dropping the pistol, which skittered across the concrete floor and slid beneath the sofa. Vanessa lunged at me with her bare hands, her manicured nails clawing at my face like an animal. We crashed to the floor, rolling among the scattered pastels and emergency blankets.
She was heavier than me, fueled by pure, unhinged desperation. Her fingers locked around my throat, cutting off my air. "I'll kill you!" she spat, spit flying from her lips. "I'll kill you both!"
I clawed at her wrists, my vision darkening at the edges, my lungs screaming for oxygen. Through the haze, I saw Isabella.
The little girl didn't run. She had picked up the heavy fire extinguisher from the wall bracket, dragging it across the floor with her small hands. With a ferocious, silent yell, Isabella swung the heavy red canister into the side of Vanessa’s ribs.
Vanessa gasped as the blow knocked the wind from her lungs, her grip loosening just enough for me to draw a ragged breath. I brought my knee up violently into her stomach, throwing her off me.
Vanessa collapsed onto her side, coughing blood, crawling toward the sofa where the gun lay hidden.
"No, you don't," I wheezed, scrambling after her, grabbing her by her wet hair, pulling her backward away from the weapon.
Vanessa whipped around, a concealed ceramic blade flashing in her left boot. She slashed upward.
A sharp, burning line of fire erupted across my left forearm as the blade sliced deep through my sweater and skin. I cried out, falling back, clutching my bleeding arm. Vanessa scrambled to her feet, knife raised, her face a mask of demonic triumph.
"Say goodbye, little nanny," she snarled, raising the blade to strike.
A single gunshot shattered the air.
Vanessa’s eyes went wide. She froze, the knife trembling above her head.
A neat, smoking hole appeared in the center of her chest, followed instantly by a bloom of crimson across her wet silk blouse. She looked down at herself in utter disbelief, her lips parting in a soundless gasp, before her knees buckled and she collapsed face-first onto the concrete floor.
Standing in the vault doorway was Luca Moretti.
His tactical vest was shredded, soaked with rain and blood that clearly wasn't his own. His assault rifle hung from its sling across his chest, and his sidearm was raised, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the barrel. Behind him, Marco and two guards stepped into the room, their weapons lowered, securing the corridor.
Luca dropped his gun to the floor.
He didn't look at Vanessa’s motionless body. He crossed the vault in three massive strides, dropping to his knees between Isabella and me.
"Claire!" he choked out, his voice cracking with an emotion I had never heard from the Don.
Isabella threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically. Luca held her tight with one arm, while his other hand reached out to grasp my bleeding arm, his fingers instantly applying pressure above the wound to stop the hemorrhage.
"Marco! Get the medic down here! NOW!" Luca bellowed, his voice shaking the concrete bunker.
"I'm okay, Luca," I whispered, the room beginning to spin from the adrenaline crash and the blood loss. "Isabella... Isabella saved me. She fought, Luca. She was so brave."
Luca looked down at his daughter, who was clinging to his vest, her small hands smeared with my blood and pastel chalk. Then he looked at me, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine, his breath ragged and hot against my skin.
"The Tarasovs are dead," Luca whispered, his voice trembling against my ear. "Antonio Bellini was caught at the Canadian border twenty minutes ago. It’s over, Claire. The wolves are dead. You’re safe."
Isabella pulled back slightly from her father’s chest. She looked at me, then at Luca.
Slowly, with bloody, trembling fingers, she lifted her hands.
*Family,* she signed.
She placed her left hand in Luca’s palm, and her right hand in mine, pulling our hands together until our fingers intertwined over her lap.
*No more silence,* Isabella signed, looking directly into her father's eyes. *Claire is my mother now. Tell her, Daddy.*
Luca looked down at our joined hands, then up into my eyes. The brutal, terrifying mob boss vanished completely, leaving only a man who had finally found the piece of his soul he had lost a lifetime ago.
"She’s right, Claire," Luca said, his voice thick with raw devotion. "No more contracts. No more politics. Stay with us. Not as a governess. As my wife. As Isabella’s mother."
My vision blurred with warm tears. Through the pain in my arm and the exhaustion in my bones, a profound, soaring peace filled my chest.
*Yes,* I signed with my uninjured hand, my fingers steady and clear. *Yes, Luca.*
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Isabella let out a joyous, beautiful sound—a real, vocal laugh that echoed off the cold steel of the vault—and buried herself between us as Luca wrapped his massive arms around both of us, sealing our promise in the quiet dark.
***
