Chapter 7 - THE GHOST IN REDThe phone line died into static.
Alessandro sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "That's impossible... she died six years ago."
"Who?" I asked, my chest tightening with a fresh wave of panic. "Alessandro, who died six years ago?"
"My sister," Alessandro whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "Isabella."
Before I could ask another question, the rear window of the SUV shattered into a million tiny fragments.
BANG! BANG!
Heavy-caliber gunfire shredded the rear tires. The vehicle lurked violently as an armored truck smashed into our side, shoving us off the narrow dirt road and down a steep embankment into the trees.
The SUV rolled twice, the terrible sound of tearing metal and smashing glass filling my ears until everything came to a bone-crushing halt against a giant oak tree.
Groaning, my head spinning, I blinked through the haze of smoke filling the cabin. "Emma! Emma!"
"I'm here, Mommy..." a small voice whimpered from the back. She was bruised, but protected by the heavy car seat and Alessandro's thick coat.
I looked to my left. Alessandro was slumped over the steering wheel, blood streaming down his face, unconscious.
Footsteps crunched on the wet pine needles outside.
The driver's side door was ripped open with a crowbar. Rain slammed into the cabin. A woman dressed in a long white trench coat and wearing high leather boots stepped into view, holding a silenced pistol.
She pulled off her wet leather gloves, revealing a face that looked almost identical to Alessandro's—sharp, beautiful, and utterly heartless.
"Wake up, little brother," Isabella Moretti said, her voice dripping with cold malice. "You slept through the best part of the show."
Alessandro stirred, let out a painful groan, and slowly lifted his head, his vision bloody. "Isabella... you... you survived the fire in Venice?"
"Of course I survived," Isabella laughed softly, pointing her weapon directly at Alessandro's forehead. "I faked my death so I could build my own empire with the Russians while you played honorable mob boss with your little Italian families."
She turned her cold, ice-blue eyes toward me.
"And you," Isabella sneered. "Arthur's pathetic little wife. Do you know why your husband had to die, Sarah? Because he found out that I was the one supplying weapons to the eastern cartels. He was going to tell Alessandro. So I had his brakes cut in London."
May you like
My blood ran ice cold. The monster who murdered my husband was standing right in front of me.
"Hand over the rabbit's button, Sarah," Isabella demanded, holding out her hand. "The digital master key inside it controls forty billion dollars in offshore accounts. Give it to me, and I'll kill you quickly."
