Chapter 5 - THE SANCTUARY BY THE WATER
The lake cottage was hidden deep within the dense pine forests of southern Wisconsin, three hours north of Chicago.
It wasn't a cottage at all. It was a rustic, sprawling timber fortress nestled against a secluded cove of Lake Geneva. Surrounded by ancient hemlocks and hidden behind a private electric gate disguised as an old logging trail, the property felt entirely severed from the violent world we had just escaped.
By the time the Volvo rolled up the gravel driveway, the dawn had broken, painting the gray sky in pale streaks of lavender and gold.
Luca cut the engine. For several minutes, nobody moved. The only sound was the steady patter of pine needles dripping rain onto the windshield.
Isabella had fallen asleep against my chest, exhausted from the tension of the long ride.
Luca turned in his seat. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of forty-eight hours without sleep, but his focus was razor-sharp. He reached back, his fingers lightly brushing Isabella’s cheek, before his gaze drifted up to mine.
“You didn't flinch,” Luca said softly. “When the east wing blew... you didn't scream. You just covered her ears.”
“She can’t hear explosions, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered back. “She can only feel them. And panic is contagious. If I panicked, she would have drowned in it.”
Luca studied me, his gaze so intense it sent a warm shiver coursing down my spine despite the morning chill. “You call me Mr. Moretti like I’m a stranger paying your wage. Out here, Claire, there are no housekeepers. There are no Dons. Just three people trying to survive. Call me Luca.”
“Luca,” I tried the name out. It felt heavy, intimate, and entirely too close to the fire.
He gave a slight, tired nod. “Let me carry her.”
He stepped out, walked around to the passenger side, and gently lifted his sleeping daughter into his arms. Isabella instinctively buried her nose into his neck, sighing softly in her sleep.
I followed him up the wooden porch steps into the cabin. Inside, the air was dry, smelling of cured cedar and woodsmoke. Heavy leather furniture, a massive stone hearth, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty lake gave the space a quiet, monastic peace.
Luca carried Isabella down the hall to a warm, quilt-lined guest room and tucked her into bed, sliding off her yellow rain boots with infinite care. When he stepped back out into the living room, he looked like a man running on fumes.
He walked over to the kitchen counter and poured two glasses of tap water, handing one to me.
“Drink. You’re pale,” he ordered.
I took the glass, my fingers brushing his. His skin was burning hot compared to my freezing hands. “What happens now?”
Luca leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Now, the world thinks Isabella Moretti is dead. Vincent Bellini will claim victory. He will call an emergency meeting of the Five Syndicates in forty-eight hours to carve up my territory, assuming I am either dead or paralyzed by grief.”
“And you?”
A slow, terrifying smirk touched the corner of Luca’s mouth. “I will attend the meeting.”
“Luca, that’s suicide!” I stepped closer, my heart lunging into my throat. “If they think she’s gone, they will have their guards posted everywhere! It will be an ambush!”
“It won't be an ambush, Claire,” he said calmly, stepping forward until the distance between us vanished completely. I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “Because they don't know who delivered the blow. They think it was an outside job. And they don't know that my head of security, Marco, wasn't at the house.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted burner phone. He tapped the screen once.
“Marco,” Luca said into the receiver.
*“Boss!”* Marco’s voice cracked through the small speaker, breathless. *“Thank God. We saw the smoke from the highway. Did you make it out?”*
“We are safe at the sanctuary,” Luca replied, his eyes never leaving mine. “How many did they send?”
*“A strike team of twelve Bellini soldiers,”* Marco reported. *“Three of them are still breathing in our basement holding cells. The rest won't be talking to anyone ever again. And boss... we found something on the strike leader’s phone.”*
Luca’s voice went dead cold. “What?”
*“Voice memos from Vanessa Bellini. Timestamped yesterday afternoon. She didn't just give them the blueprints, boss. She ordered them to execute the little girl on sight and make it look like an accidental fire. She said... she said a deaf mute was an insult to the family name and she wouldn't share her inheritance with a broken child.”*
A suffocating fury swept through the room. I felt sick to my stomach. Vanessa hadn't just wanted Isabella out of the way; she was a monster wrapped in red silk and high fashion.
Luca’s hand tightened around the phone until the plastic groaned.
May you like
“Keep the three alive, Marco,” Luca whispered, the command carrying the absolute weight of a death sentence. “Keep them breathing until tomorrow night. When I walk into that Syndicate council, I’m not just taking Vincent’s territory. I am going to erase the Bellini name from this earth.”
***
