Chapter 9 - A Shadow’s Last Stand
The wedding preparations were underway, but the Moretti syndicate was not a beast that died quietly.
Desperate and facing total ruin after the collapse of their BrightLine scheme, the Moretti family made one final, suicidal play. They knew they couldn't touch Rodrick on his own turf, so they targeted his weakest point.
His grandmother.
On a quiet Thursday afternoon, while Rodrick was in a meeting with the city council, an unmarked delivery van drove through the gates of the Vance estate. The driver, disguised as a florist carrying a massive arrangement of white roses for the wedding, managed to bypass the outer security.
Within minutes, the alarm went off.
Della, who was in the conservatory with Rosie choosing the flower girl dresses, heard the shouting from the courtyard. She immediately grabbed Rosie, shoving her into the hidden wall safe room that Rodrick had installed in the main study.
"Stay here, Rosie," Della whispered, her heart hammering. "Do not make a sound, no matter what you hear."
"Mommy, I'm scared," Rosie whimpered.
"I know, baby. But Mommy’s going to protect us. Just like Daddy used to."
Della closed the heavy steel panel, hiding her daughter, and stepped back into the hallway.
She heard a commotion from the drawing-room. She crept down the corridor, her hand finding the heavy brass fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. She slipped it from its bracket, her fingers tightening around the cold metal.
Inside the drawing-room, two men in dark masks had Margaret Vance pinned in her wheelchair. One of them was holding a silenced pistol to the old woman's head, while the other was trying to wheel her toward the French doors.
"Hurry up!" the man with the gun hissed. "The boss said if we get the old lady, Vance will give us the shipping docks back by tonight!"
Della didn't hesitate.
She swung around the doorframe, lifting the heavy fire extinguisher, and slammed it with all her might into the back of the gunman’s head.
Crack.
The man collapsed like a sack of stones, his gun clattering across the hardwood floor.
The second kidnapper let go of the wheelchair, his eyes widening in shock, and reached for his own weapon. But before he could draw, Della squeezed the handle of the extinguisher, releasing a massive, blinding cloud of white chemical retardant directly into his face.
The man screamed, clawing at his eyes as he stumbled backward through the open glass doors.
Outside, the estate's security team—alerted by the alarm—burst onto the terrace, immediately pinning the blinded kidnapper to the ground.
Della dropped the empty fire extinguisher, her hands shaking violently, and ran to Margaret’s side. "Margaret! Are you alright?"
The matriarch was pale, but her eyes were fierce. She reached out, grabbing Della’s arm with surprising strength. "I am perfectly fine, my dear. But I believe you just broke another window's worth of trouble for my family."
A second later, the front doors of the mansion were practically thrown off their hinges.
Rodrick burst into the room, his face white, his eyes wild with terror. Behind him was a small army of his men. He saw the unconscious gunman on the floor, the white powder covering the room, and finally, Della kneeling beside his grandmother.
He dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around both of them, pulling them so tightly against his chest that Della could hear the frantic, terrified beat of his heart.
"They're safe, boss," Victor said from the doorway, his voice shaking with relief. "Mrs. Marsh handled them."
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Rodrick looked down at Della, his eyes shining with tears of raw, overwhelming love. "You... you did it again."
"I told you, Rodrick," Della whispered, her hand resting against his cheek. "I don't watch the people I love die. Not anymore."
