Chapter 4 - The Ambush at the Altar and the Hidden Vault
The cathedral ballroom erupted into pure bedlam. Guests screamed, diving behind mahogany pews as Luca’s men drew their concealed weapons in a unified, deafening clatter of steel.
In a fraction of a second, before a single shot could be fired, Luca shoved me down behind the heavy marble altar. He ripped his tuxedo jacket off, drawing two matte-black pistols from shoulder holsters I hadn't even noticed he was wearing.
“Stay down, Emma!” he roared, his voice cutting through the panic. “Marco, suppress the doors!”
Gunfire tore through the sacred hall. Glass from the towering stained-glass windows rained down like colorful daggers. Wood splinters flew through the air as automatic rounds chewed into the back rows of pews.
Dante Vance stood behind the cover of a reinforced ballistic shield carried by his lead mercenary. “Luca! Did you really think you could replace my girl with a servant and keep the empire? You don't have the deed signatures! Thomas Reed's mind is gone, and without those original zoning titles, the Chicago port authority transfers to my offshore shell company at midnight!”
Luca fired three precise shots over the rim of the altar, taking down two of Vance’s point men with terrifying efficiency. “You’re twenty years too late, Dante! You couldn't beat my father, and you sure as hell won't beat me!”
Luca crouched beside me, checking his magazines. His breath was steady, his eyes calm despite the war zone surrounding us. He looked down at me, taking my shaking hands in his.
“Emma, listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping into urgent focus. “Vance didn't just come to crash a wedding. He brought heavy artillery because he knows the master deed to the entire lakefront territory is hidden inside this estate. Your father built a fail-safe vault beneath the foundations thirty years ago. Only Thomas’s bloodline can open the biometric lock.”
My eyes widened. “My bloodline?”
“Your father coded the vault to his daughter’s DNA,” Luca said, reloading with a sharp click. “He knew that if the syndicate ever turned on him, you would be the only person who could access the true ownership deeds. That’s why Vance needed you dead or captive. If we don't retrieve those physical documents within the hour, Vance’s corrupt judges will ratify forged titles in the district court tomorrow morning.”
Another volley of gunfire shattered the front face of the marble altar just inches above our heads. Marco slid across the polished tiles, his shoulder bleeding from a graze. “Boss! Vance has another team breaching the western terrace! We’re getting flanked!”
Luca didn't flinch. “Take Emma through the sacristy tunnel down to Level Three. Get her to the archive vault. I’ll hold the central corridor with the main squad.”
“No!” I grabbed Luca’s arm, my fingers digging into the heavy fabric of his dress shirt. The thought of leaving him behind made my chest ache with a sudden, violent intensity that terrified me. “I'm not leaving you here!”
Luca looked at me, surprised by the fierce fire in my eyes. A dark, genuine smile spread across his bruised face. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray strand of blonde hair and tucking it behind my ear.
“You’re a fighter, little maid,” he murmured, his thumb lingering on my cheekbone. “Now go finish what your father started. I will find you on the other side. Nothing in hell is keeping me from my wife.”
Marco grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the concealed panel behind the altar. I hitched up the heavy skirts of my silk wedding gown, tearing the delicate train off so I could sprint. We plunged into the damp, concrete darkness of the emergency stairs, the thunder of gunfire muffled by steel-reinforced blast doors behind us.
We ran down three flights of winding industrial stairs, deep into the bedrock beneath the Moretti mansion. Down here, the air was cool and smelled of stone and old iron. At the end of a long, fluorescent-lit corridor stood a massive round vault door made of eight-inch solid titanium—the secret archive Antonio Moretti and my father had constructed decades ago.
Beside the heavy electronic locking mechanism sat a digital console with a clear glass prism.
“This is it, Mrs. Moretti,” Marco breathed, panting heavily as he kept his submachine gun trained on the hallway behind us. “Place your hand on the scanner.”
My heart hammered in my throat. I approached the glass pad. My hands were coated in dust, soot, and sweat. I pressed my right palm against the scanner.
A soft blue laser line washed over my skin, reading the ridge patterns, followed by a sharp, painless prick at the tip of my ring finger. A tiny crimson bead appeared against the glass.
“DNA SEQUENCE MATCH CONFIRMED,” an automated mechanical voice resonated from the wall speakers. “WELCOME, EMMA REED. ARCHIVE VAULT UNSEALED.”
With a heavy pneumatic hiss, the multi-ton titanium door unlatched, rotating open to reveal a brightly lit, climate-controlled chamber. Inside, sitting on a velvet pedestal, was a brass lockbox stamped with the dual insignias of the Reed Engineering Firm and the Moretti Crest.
I stepped inside, my trembling hands lifting the lid of the box. Inside lay thick, parchment-bound municipal land deeds, stamped with original gold foil seals, granting irrevocable sovereign ownership of the entire Chicago riverfront development directly to the legitimate heirs of Antonio Moretti and Thomas Reed.
Alongside the deeds lay a pristine leather-bound ledger. I opened it. Written on the pages in meticulous handwriting were dates, offshore bank account numbers, shell company registries, and names—names of city council members, federal judges, police commissioners, and shipping executives who had been secretly on Dante Vance’s payroll for over a decade. It was the complete, undeniable roadmap of Vance’s entire criminal syndicate.
Suddenly, slow, mocking applause echoed from the vault entrance.
I spun around. Marco was lying unconscious on the concrete floor, bleeding from the back of his head.
Standing in the doorway, a smoking pistol in his hand, was Dante Vance. Beside him, dressed in a stolen tactical vest, stood Vanessa Bellini, her eyes gleaming with vindictive hatred.
May you like
“Well, well,” Vance purred, stepping inside and leveling his gun directly at my forehead. “The little scrubwoman actually found the keys to the kingdom. Hand over the box, darling, or I blow your blonde head all over these pretty historical papers.”
---
