Chapter 8 - The Storm Breaks
Terror transformed into pure maternal instinct.
As Vanessa brought the heavy iron bar down, I rolled violently to the right, ignoring the sharp, tearing pain that ripped across my pelvis. The metal tool struck the bottom oak tread with a sickening, splintering *crack*, sending wood chips flying into the air.
I scrambled up, grabbing the heavy brass umbrella stand beside the door and hurling it with all the strength left in my body.
The heavy cylinder struck Vanessa in the chest, knocking her off balance. She stumbled backward into the shattered glass of the floral vase, shrieking in pain as the shards bit through her jeans.
I turned and bolted toward the kitchen, my hand clutching my belly, which had suddenly seized in an excruciating, blinding contraction. The water broke—a warm rush cascading down my legs onto the floorboards.
*Not now,* I prayed desperately, tears blinding my vision. *Please God, not now. Keep him safe.*
I slammed the heavy pocket doors of the kitchen shut, throwing the latch just as Vanessa threw her entire body weight against the wood from the other side.
*BANG. BANG. BANG.*
“Open the door, Isabella!” she screeched, pounding the wood with the iron tool. The frosted glass panel at the top of the door cracked into a spiderweb pattern. “You ruined me! You took my life! I will tear that brat out of you before I let Luca hold him!”
My hands shook so violently I could barely enter the passcode on the wall-mounted security terminal beside the pantry. I hit the red *Panic* button, triggering the high-decibel alarm.
Instantly, a deafening siren began pulsing through the ceiling speakers, and the exterior floodlights began flashing blue and red.
Through the crack in the glass, I saw Vanessa freeze. The realization that private security and the police would arrive within three minutes shattered what was left of her sanity.
She reared back, using the tire iron like a battering ram, smashing the center of the wooden door. The glass shattered completely, raining sharp shards into the kitchen. Her bloody arm reached through the hole, fumbling frantically for the interior latch.
Suddenly, the front door of the brownstone blew inward with the force of an artillery shell.
“ISABELLA!”
Luca’s voice didn't sound human. It was a roar of feral, murderous fury that shook the entire house.
Vanessa spun around in the hallway, raising the tire iron in panic.
She never had a chance.
Luca cleared the fifteen feet of the hallway in two monstrous strides. His face was a mask of pure demonic rage. He didn't bother to disarm her; he tackled her with the full force of his six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound frame, driving her into the far wall.
The tire iron clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Luca had his forearm pinned across Vanessa’s throat, pressing her against the wall with enough pressure that her feet dangled two inches above the parquet floor. His dark eyes were black with a lethal intent that terrified even me.
“Luca! No!” I cried out, shoving the broken pocket doors open, clutching the kitchen counter as another massive contraction ripped through my abdomen. “Don’t kill her! Luca, look at me! Look at me!”
At the sound of my voice, Luca’s head snapped toward the kitchen.
Seeing me doubled over, the water pooling on the floor, the blood drained from his face, replaced by an overwhelming, frantic panic.
He looked back at Vanessa, his lip curling in disgust. “You are not worth going to prison for,” he hissed into her face.
With a flick of his powerful arm, he threw her down onto the hardwood floor just as Marcus and four armed officers poured through the ruined front entrance, weapons drawn.
“Cuff her!” Marcus barked, pinning Vanessa’s arms behind her as she sobbed and screamed into the floorboards. “Get the EMTs in here now!”
Luca didn't look at her again. He dropped to his knees in front of me, sliding through the water and glass, his large hands catching my face, his thumbs wiping the sweat and tears from my eyes.
“Bella,” he choked out, his voice trembling violently as his eyes scanned my body for injuries. “Are you hurt? Did she touch you? Did she hit you?”
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“No,” I wheezed, clenching his wrists as another contraction seized me with the force of a freight train. “No... but Luca... the baby. The baby is coming right now!”
***
