Chapter 7 - The Ambush at the Lakeside Villa
Julian Vance kicked open the heavy iron doors of the ground-floor pantry annex, flanked by six armed mercenaries.
"Burn the filing cabinets first!" Julian hissed, pulling out an industrial blowtorch. "Then plant the thermite on the wine racks! Make sure the entire east wing goes up in smoke!"
The mercenaries moved into the storage hall, stepping between eighty-pound bags of imported flour and sugar.
From the shadows of the upper catwalk, a small figure appeared.
I stood on the iron balcony, holding a commercial high-pressure dough-mixing air blower.
"Hey, Julian!" I called out.
Julian snapped his head up, pointing his pistol. "You stupid little baker—!"
I pulled the valve.
WHOOOOSH.
A massive, pressurized cloud of white industrial wheat flour erupted from the ventilation ducts, filling the enclosed room with an impenetrable, blinding blizzard of fine white powder.
The mercenaries began coughing violently, rubbing their eyes, their tactical flashlights bouncing uselessly off the white fog.
"I can't see! Drop the weapons!" a mercenary shouted.
CLANG.
From the far doorway, the fog parted.
Emerging like an ancient mythical giant through the white cloud was Luca Moretti.
His six-foot-six frame seemed to absorb the room. With terrifying, calculated efficiency, Luca moved through the blizzard. A single sweep of his arm sent two contractors crashing into the timber shelving; his fist struck the third like an iron sledgehammer, dropping him unconscious to the floorboards.
Julian shrieked, firing blindly into the fog.
BANG.
The bullet struck the brick wall six feet above me.
Before Julian could pull the trigger a second time, a massive hand clamped around his throat like a hydraulic vice.
Luca lifted the thirty-year-old cousin clean off his feet with a single arm, slamming him against the stone pillar.
Julian’s pistol clattered to the floor. His legs kicked helplessly in the air, his face turning purple as he clawed at Luca’s immovable fingers.
"You brought weapons into my home, Julian," Luca spoke softly, his voice colder than the deep water of Lake Como. "You threatened my wife."
"L... Luca... mercy..." Julian wheezed, tears of sheer, unadulterated terror streaming through the flour on his cheeks.
The pantry doors burst open.
Marco and ten Moretti Black Watch operators flooded the room, securing the disarmed mercenaries in heavy steel zip-ties.
I walked down the iron staircase, brushing flour off my eyelashes, stopping beside Luca.
Luca looked down at me, his eyes overflowing with fierce pride and boundless adoration.
May you like
"Are you hurt, mia regina?" he asked gently, lowering Julian two inches without releasing his grip.
"I’m completely fine," I smiled, brushing a speck of white flour off the tip of his nose. "But I think your cousin has a council meeting to attend."
