Chapter 13 - The Signal in the Stained Glass
The response to my voice was instantaneous and overwhelming.
Before Santoro could raise his Beretta to fire a warning shot into the vaulted ceiling, the massive stained-glass rose window high above the western transept shattered inward in a blinding shower of colored crystal shards.
Three heavy tactical cables dropped through the gaping hole with deafening speed.
Six heavily armed Moretti enforcers rappelled down the ropes with military precision, their suppressed submachine guns roaring to life before their boots even hit the stone floor.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The three New York hitmen never cleared their holsters.
High-velocity hollow-point rounds stitched a neat, lethal line across their chests, sending them crashing backward over the wooden pews in a spray of blood and dark fabric.
Capo Santoro spun around in sheer terror, trying to bring his pistol to bear on the descending commandos, but a single sniper round from the northern bell tower took out his right knee, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the marble pillar.
His nickel-plated Beretta clattered across the flagstones, sliding six feet across the floor until it came to rest against my father’s silver pocket watch in my memory.
"Secure the transepts!" Mateo Rossi roared, storming through the side sacristy doors followed by forty loyal soldiers carrying riot shields.
"Nobody moves! Nobody breathes! Anyone with a New York pin on his lapel goes down on his face right now!"
The congregation cowered beneath the pews, screaming and praying in terrified clusters.
Up at the altar, Father Thomas dropped his prayer book and crossed himself frantically, retreating into the vestry behind the golden crucifix.
Don Silvio Bellini stood frozen beside his daughter, his hand still gripping the revolver inside his coat pocket, watching the rapid, brutal dismantling of the New York conspiracy in less than forty seconds.
Vanessa collapsed onto her knees right there on the red velvet runner, her expensive white bridal gown soaking up the growing pool of blood beneath the dead hitmen.
Her veil fell away from her face, revealing skin the color of wet chalk and eyes hollowed out by absolute madness.
"You planned this..." Vanessa whimpered, staring up at Luca as he stepped down from the altar platform.
"You knew they were coming... you used me as bait..."
Luca looked down at his weeping bride with eyes colder than winter ice.
"You wanted a wedding to remember, Vanessa," Luca said softly, his voice cutting through the ringing silence of the cathedral.
"I gave you a family reunion."
He turned his head toward the central aisle where Mateo was dragging Capo Santoro across the floor by his expensive herringbone collar.
Santoro was gasping for air, clutching his shattered knee while a trail of dark blood smeared across the pristine red runner.
Mateo hauled the bleeding capo to his feet and shoved him hard against the base of the altar, right beside Vanessa.
"Don Luca," Mateo panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his massive hand.
"The perimeter is sealed."
"The New York backup units tried to breach the outer barricades on State Street three minutes ago."
"Our boys flipped their vans with a truckload of gravel."
"They're currently surrendering to the Chicago police department under our payroll."
Luca walked slowly toward the bleeding capo, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone.
He stopped two feet from Santoro, resting his hands inside the pockets of his midnight-blue trousers.
"You had a good run in Brooklyn, Santoro," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
May you like
"Tell the commission when you see them in hell..."
"Chicago is closed."
