Chapter 12 - The Armor of Wolves
Luca looked at his mother's hands, then down at the titanium drive in Arthur’s palm, his jaw setting into a line of absolute, immovable resolve.
He reached down, picked up his discarded Kimber .45 from the medical crate, and shoved a fresh fourteen-round magazine into the grip with a sharp, echoing snap.
"Matteo," Luca commanded, the pain in his wounded side completely overridden by icy tactical adrenaline.
"Sound the general estate retreat."
"I want all civilian staff, groundskeepers, and kitchen personnel loaded into the armored Suburbans and driven through the underground utility tunnel toward the Milwaukee rail spur."
"Boss, what about us?" Matteo asked, his tactical radio already squawking with distorted chatter from perimeter sentries.
"We don't run from our own home," Luca said, his voice flat and terrifyingly steady.
"Miller wants to use federal authority to bury my mother’s voice and execute my family for profit."
"We will give him a war that echoes all the way to Capitol Hill."
Luca turned toward Arthur, his dark eyes narrowing into razor points.
"Dawson, you spent seven years hiding like a rat in the dark while your daughter grew up without a father."
"Tonight is your only chance at redemption."
"You take Claire, Sophie, and my mother down into the southern tunnel beneath the carriage house."
"There is a reinforced panic bunker with independent satellite uplinks and encrypted broadcast repeaters."
"I don't care how many of Miller's goons you have to shoot—you get Eleanor’s sworn visual testimony onto the public Associated Press wire before Miller’s convoy breaches the courtyard."
"I'm not leaving you behind, Luca!" I blurted out, my instincts refusing to let this man—who had thrown his own body in front of a bullet to shield me—stand alone against an army.
Luca stepped toward me, his bloodstained hand gently reaching up to touch the curve of my jaw.
His touch was surprisingly warm against my chilled skin, his gaze softening with an emotion that transcended the violence surrounding us.
"Claire, for eighteen months I walked through this house thinking my mother hated me, living in a personal hell where I was completely alone," Luca whispered softly, so only I could hear.
"You walked into that bedroom with nothing but kindness in your hands and shattered the walls of my prison."
"You gave me my mother back."
"Now, let me give you and Sophie a future where you never have to run again."
He looked down at Sophie, raising his hand and forming the sign for promise—his thumb pressed against his lips, then dropping flat against his palm.
Sophie looked at his hand, then reached up, wrapping her small fingers around his wrist, her face solemn and completely fearless.
Be safe, Uncle Luca, she signed with quiet, innocent reverence.
Luca blinked against a sudden swell of emotion, nodding firmly before stepping back into the center of the bunker.
"Go! Now!" he roared.
Matteo threw open the rear escape bulkhead, revealing the long, concrete drainage tunnel illuminated by low yellow emergency bulbs.
Arthur led the way with a tactical submachine gun drawn, while I pushed Eleanor’s wheelchair along the concrete floor, Sophie running close by my side with her hand tightly woven into mine.
Behind us, the heavy blast doors of the master bunker sealed shut, isolating Luca and his final eight loyal soldiers in the main mansion.
Less than ninety seconds later, the earth above our heads shook violently.
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The concussive blast of high-explosive breaching charges detonating against the north gates echoed through the concrete tunnel like rolling thunder.
The assault on the Moretti estate had begun.
