Chapter 26 NORA
NORA
Boots hammer against marble. Two men sprint past me in the hall, racking slides on semi-automatics, their shoulders slamming into the wall as they curse into encrypted walkie-talkies.
Static crackles over the radio, someone screaming about a black van cutting south near downtown three hours back, zero traffic camera feeds on the route, and Vincenzo Bellini’s crest spray-painted on the alley wall where they snatched Sofia off the pavement.
I press my shoulder against the kitchen doorframe.
Luca stands over the marble island, fists planted on a paper grid map.
His knuckles are white, his knuckles striking the granite as he snarls street coordinates at three guards.
Adrian taps wildly on a tablet, sweat beading on his forehead as he rewinds blank street feeds.
Beside him, Enzo shoves nine-millimeter rounds into steel magazines, each metallic click louder than the last, his jaw twitching with every second of dead air.
Out in the corridor, a hand suddenly clamps onto my elbow like an iron vise, tugging me backward into the shadows of the side hall before I can make a sound.
I spin around ready to drive my heel into someone's shin, but it is Nonna. She does not have an apron or a rolling pin. She is wearing a dark wool overcoat buttoned to the chin, her silver hair pinned tight, and her eyes cold as slate. In her left hand, she grips a scuffed leather satchel.
Nonna presses a crooked finger to her lips and gestures toward the side exit. "Shh."
Luca's voice roars inside the kitchen, shouting coordinates over the speakerphone.
The men are too busy screaming over satellite feeds to notice us slipping away.
Nonna unzips the satchel just enough for me to see a heavy, dull-black automatic pistol and three spare magazines resting on dark velvet.
"They will waste hours talking in circles while Vincenzo holds my girl," she mutters under her breath, steering me down the dim servants' stairs toward the garage.
She pulls the slide back on the pistol with one clean, effortless snap of her wrist, chambering a round without missing a step. An icy stare pins me in place. "Nora."
"Yes?" I reply, my throat dry as sandpaper.
She shoves the spare ammo directly into her coat pockets. "Can you drive fast?"
I fall into step beside her. "I learned in London traffic. I can drive anything on four wheels."
"Good. The Alfa Romeo in the corner bay. Go." She pushes open the heavy fire door into the underground garage.
Nonna keeps her fingers hooked in my sleeve as we reach the concrete floor.
Overhead, boots stomp back and forth across the ceiling, muffled shouts echoing down the elevator shaft.
I reach out, lift the silver fob off the magnetic board by the door, and press the small unlock button with my thumb.
Across the bay, the amber parking lights of the dark sedan blink twice into the gloom with a soft click.
"If Luca brings fifty cars, Vincenzo shoots Sofia before anyone touches the doorknob," Nonna murmurs as she slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut. "Vincenzo knows my face. Start the engine."
I hit the ignition button. The twin-turbo V6 engine roars to life, echoing against the concrete walls. I slam the shifter into reverse, whip the wheel around, and launch us out of the side gate into the night without looking back.
Twenty minutes later, the dark Italian countryside blurs past my windshield at ninety miles an hour. My fingers grip the leather steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache, but the old woman beside me doesn't even flinch as I take a hairpin turn on squealing tires.
"Turn left at the stone gatehouse," Nonna instructs, her tone calm and steady, like giving directions to a grocery store instead of a fortress.
I tap the brake as the big iron gates flash into view and yell over the engine, "Are you sure about this?" Two guards with big guns jump into the driveway, shouting at us to stop.
Nonna braces her hand on the dash. "Keep going. Hit the gate."
I hit the gas. The heavy reinforced bumper smashes through the wooden gate arm with a sickening crack. The guards dive into the gravel ditch as we roar up the long driveway and screech to a halt right on the front terrace steps.
Nonna steps out before the dust settles. I jump out right behind her, my heart hammering against my ribs. Three armed guards rush out of the villa's double doors, but the moment they see Nonna's face, their rifles drop an inch in pure disbelief.
She pushes right past their lowered barrels and spits, "Tell Vincenzo that Lucia is here for her girl."
We bust through the double doors into a cavernous foyer paved in slick Italian marble.
At the center of the room stands Don Vincenzo Bellini himself, fat cigar perched between his teeth, looking like a man who genuinely believes he runs the world.
That smug look evaporates the exact second his eyes land on the little old woman marching toward him.
Over by the fireplace, Sofia sits tied to an ornate gilded chair, hair tangled and eyes red, rope biting into her wrists.
The cigar tumbles right out of Vincenzo's mouth, bouncing off his polished shoes. "Lucia? What the hell is this? You've been retired for twenty years!"
"I took a personal day," Nonna informs him smoothly, not slowing her stride by an inch. "And you're making a mess of my evening, Vincenzo."
Vincenzo throws his hands up in sheer disbelief, glaring at me. "You brought a retired grandmother to my house? Who the fuck are you? Her hostage? Her driver?"
I step right up beside Nonna with my arms crossed. "Her crisis manager, asshole. And frankly, your security is an absolute embarrassment. We drove through your front gate and two of your hitmen dove headfirst into a ditch. You should demand a refund."
"Shut up! Both of you!" Vincenzo roars, his face turning the shade of an overripe tomato. "You broke into my villa! You think you can walk in here and lecture me about defense?"
Nonna draws the dull-black pistol from her coat in one fluid, terrifying motion. "I don't lecture cheap amateurs," she corrects in a deadly whisper.
Vincenzo fumbles frantically at his waistband, shrieking at his frozen guards, "Shoot her! Shoot the old bat!"
A gunshot cracks like thunder through the foyer. Vincenzo screeches in agony, dropping like a sack of wet flour as blood spurts from his shattered hand. His silver piece clatters across the marble, spinning until it taps Nonna's black shoe. She doesn't even blink.
Nonna keeps the barrel steady as a rock and announces to the guards, "Anyone moves, and your boss gets a matching hole in his knee." Then she jerks her chin at me. "Nora. Untie Sofia before I lose my patience."
"On it!" I shout, bolting past two frozen bodyguards who look like they'd rather be anywhere else on earth.
I skid on the rug by the chair and pull out my pocketknife, working the blade furiously through the thick cords around Sofia's wrists. "Hey, sweetie. Breathe. We're getting you out of here."
"Nora?" Sofia hiccups, half-laughing through a fresh wave of tears as the rope snaps free. "Did you and Nonna hijack a car?"
I haul her up, slinging her arm over my shoulder. "We stole an Alfa Romeo and totaled the front lawn. Now let's go before she starts shooting the light fixtures."
Nonna steps closer to Vincenzo, who is kneeling on the floor, groaning and cradling his ruined hand with a handkerchief. She presses the hot barrel of her gun directly against his forehead.
She leans in close until the hot metal bites deep into his flesh.
"Listen to me, Vincenzo. Your fight is with Luca.
You hit him in the street, you hit his business.
But you touch my granddaughter again, and I will put you in the dirt just like I did your father.
He took my boys' parents from them twenty years ago, and my husband died from a broken heart because of it.
I carved your bastard father open with my own two hands, Vincenzo. Do you hear me?"
Vincenzo blubbers, his bloody wrist squeezed tight against his silk shirt as he curls into a ball. "I hear you! Jesus, Lucia, I hear you! Take the girl! Just get the fuck out of my house!"
I haul Sofia toward the doors. "A pleasure doing business with you, Don Bellini! Leave us a glowing online review!"
Nonna lowers the gun, turns her back on him completely, and nods toward the exit. "Come on. Sofia needs food and a warm bed."
We step back out onto the terrace into the cool night air, Sofia supported between us. Right as we reach the car, three black SUVs come screeching down the gravel driveway, headlights blinding us as doors fly open and a dozen heavily armed Moretti soldiers flood the courtyard.
Luca sprints ahead of the pack with a combat rifle raised, his jaw clenched in pure panic. But when his spotlight catches Sofia, safe and walking on her own feet toward the car, he skids to a complete halt on the gravel like he just ran into a brick wall.
"Sofia?" Luca chokes out, his rifle dipping toward the ground. Matteo and Enzo freeze behind him, their jaws hanging open in utter disbelief as they stare at their grandmother.
Nonna casually tosses the warm pistol into Luca's chest. He fumbles it against his ribs, blinking like he cannot process what his eyes are seeing. "You were too slow, Luca," she states coldly. "Get in the car. Sofia needs soup and a clean bandage."
Luca holds the gun limply in his hands, shifting his stunned gaze from his sister, to his grandmother, and finally to me behind the steering wheel.
"Don't look at me," I mutter, dragging a shaky hand across my face. "Your grandmother is completely out of her mind, and she is my new favorite person."
Adrian pushes past the guards in a dead sprint, dropping his weapon straight into the damp grass. He drops to both knees right in front of Sofia, his hands hovering over her like she might shatter if he presses too hard. "Where are you hurt? Did he touch you? Look at me, Sofia."
Adrian frantically checks her wrists and wraps his own heavy tactical jacket around her shivering frame. Sofia offers a small, tired smile. "I'm fine, Adrian. Just tired."
Enzo elbows Matteo in the ribs and lets out a loud whistle. "See? I told you she was tougher than both of us put together. Matteo was crying in the car, Sofia. Actual tears. He thought he'd have to do his own laundry forever."
Matteo throws his arms dramatically toward the cloudy sky, breaking into a terrible tap dance on the gravel. "I was weeping tears of pure vengeance, you heathen! Look at her! Returned to us in glory! Sofia, tell Enzo my hair looked heroic while we were tracking you down."
Sofia lets out a genuine, breathless laugh against Adrian's shoulder, the terrifying weight of the kidnapping finally melting away in the ridiculous noise of her brothers.