Chapter 6 - The Airfield at Bergamo
The convoy of four black armored SUVs roared down the rain-slicked highway toward Bergamo at one hundred and twenty miles an hour.
Outside the tinted windows, the Texas-sized lightning storm illuminated the dark Italian countryside in sharp, silver bursts. Inside the lead vehicle, the silence was absolute.
I sat in the plush leather rear seat between Emma and Alessandro. Marco, his shoulder heavily bandaged, sat in the front passenger seat, monitoring military frequencies on a tactical headset. Emma had finally fallen into a deep, heavy sleep against my side, her small hand tightly wrapping around my thumb.
Alessandro sat staring out the window, a heavy black tactical rifle resting across his knees.
"Why are you doing this for us?" I asked softly, breaking the long silence. "You could have taken the drive, handed the records to your lawyers, and let the police handle Ricci. You didn't have to risk your life or your empire for a maid and her child."
Alessandro slowly turned his head to look at me. In the dim glow of the dashboard lights, the sharp, dangerous angles of his face seemed slightly softer.
"My father was a hard man, Clara," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "He taught me how to rule, how to fight, and how to command respect through fear. But he also taught me one absolute rule."
He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on mine.
"A man who allows an innocent mother and child to be slaughtered inside his own house is not a king," Alessandro said softly. "He is just a coward with a gun. Your husband died trying to protect his family. The least I can do is honor his sacrifice by finishing what he started."
He reached out, his warm, calloused hand briefly covering mine where it rested on the leather seat. The touch sent a strange, electric shiver through my entire body—a feeling I hadn't felt in two long years of grief and isolation.
"Besides," Alessandro added, a faint, rare smile touching his lips. "Mr. Bunny demanded justice."
I couldn't help a soft laugh from escaping my lips, wiping away a stray tear with the back of my hand. "Julian would have liked you. He always appreciated men who kept their word."
"Boss," Marco interrupted from the front seat, his tone sharp. "Target site in sight. Bergamo Private Hangar 4. Thermal imaging shows a Gulfstream N440 idling on the tarmac. Security team consists of eight armed guards loyal to Ricci."
Alessandro’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, ruthless expression of the mafia monarch. He racked the bolt of his rifle.
"Do not destroy the aircraft until we verify Ricci and Vivian are inside," Alessandro ordered. "And remember—Ricci belongs to Clara."
I looked at him, startled. "What?"
Alessandro pulled a small, sleek pistol from his holster and placed it gently into my hands. "Don Ricci ordered the hit on your husband, Clara. He stole two years of your daughter's life. When we clear that hangar, you will stand beside me. You will look that old coward in the eye, and you will decide his fate."
My fingers closed around the cold steel of the handgun. Two years ago, the thought of holding a weapon would have terrified me. But as I looked down at my sleeping daughter, as I remembered the cold floor I had scrubbed while Vivian laughed at my misery, the fear inside me burned away, leaving behind a cold, pure diamond of absolute resolve.
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"I'm ready," I whispered.
The convoy slammed on its brakes, pulling off the main road, killing its headlights as we rolled silently through the shattered perimeter chain-link fence of the private airfield.
