Chapter 3 - Blood on the MarbleThe heavy oak doors of the mansion’s grand foyer splintered inward with a deafening crash, showering expensive Italian tile in splinters of wood.
Glass shattered as heavy boots marched into the sanctuary of the Moretti estate. But they had walked into a slaughterhouse disguised as a home. Luca’s elite guards didn't panic; they moved with clinical, ruthless efficiency. Gunfire echoed through the high ceilings, sharp and deafening, turning the luxurious hallway into a war zone.
Upstairs, locked inside Luca’s private master suite, Elena clutched a heavy velvet curtain, her knuckles white.
Luca had carried her up here himself, barking orders before locking her behind three heavy iron bolts and a biometric keypad. “Stay here. If anyone opens this door who isn me, shoot them,” he had commanded, pressing a cold, heavy Beretta into her shaking hand.
She didn't know how to fire a gun. But she knew how to die. And she knew what Viktor Vance was capable of.
Vance wasn't just a rival mobster; he was a monster wrapped in tailored suits. He was the man who had bought her father’s debts, traded her away like property, and left those purple bruises blooming across her skin when she dared to look at another exit. He believed Elena belonged to him by contract, by blood, and by terror.
Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed against the bedroom door.
Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat. The gun felt heavy and foreign in her palm.
"Elena, open the door, little bird," a voice purred through the thick wood. It was smooth, honeyed, and dripping with sickening malice. "You can't hide behind a ghost forever. Luca Moretti is bleeding out downstairs."
A choked cry escaped her lips. No. Not Luca.
"Open it," Vance hissed, slamming his shoulder against the door. The frame cracked. "Or I start burning this entire house to the ground, starting with every servant who ever looked at you."
Elena raised the gun, her hands shaking so violently she could barely align the sights. The door groaned, the deadbolt bending under a brutal kick.
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Click.
She pulled the trigger—not knowing if she'd hit anything, praying only to end the nightmare once and for all.
