Chapter 7 - The Labyrinth of the Kitchen
Dante moved with terrifying speed for a man of his size. He kicked open the internal mahogany service door, clearing the hallway with his weapon raised as Clara, holding Leo tightly against her chest, ran through the threshold under Rico’s cover.
The primary kitchen of Il Destino was a massive, stainless-steel industrial maze—cavernous prep tables, roaring gas cookers, hanging copper pans, and white-tiled walls illuminated by bright fluorescent strip lighting. Kitchen staff and chefs screamed in terror as the gunshots echoed from the private dining room, dropping their knives and fleeing through the rear delivery exits.
Clara ran through the stainless-steel aisles, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, her boots sliding slightly on the polished kitchen tile. In her arms, Leo kept his head tucked tightly against her neck, his small arms wrapped around her shoulders like a vise, clutching his brown teddy bear.
"In here!" Rico shouted, guiding them toward a heavy, industrial steel door marked FREIGHT ELEVATOR — PRIVATE LOADING DOCK.
Rico pulled a heavy brass key card from his Brioni wallet, slapping it against the digital scanner beside the door. The scanner beeped green, and the heavy steel elevator doors groaned as they began to slide open.
Before they could step inside, a voice echoed from the far end of the kitchen prep line.
"Isabella! Stop right there!"
Clara turned her head.
Standing near the heavy industrial dishwashing station was Eleanor Moretti. Sixty years old, impeccably dressed in a dark gray Chanel suit, wearing a pearl necklace, her sharp gray hair pulled into an immaculate bun. In her gloved right hand, Eleanor held a small, silver-plated snub-nosed revolver, pointed directly at Clara’s chest.
Behind Eleanor stood two surviving tactical mercenaries, their automatic rifles trained on Rico and Dante.
"It’s over, Ricardo," Eleanor said smoothly, taking three slow, deliberate steps forward, her high heels clicking against the wet kitchen tile. "Drop your weapons, or I put a bullet through your wife’s heart right here in front of your son."
Rico stopped. His pistol remained raised, his finger resting on the trigger, but his eyes darted to Clara’s face with agonizing desperation.
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"Don't do it, Eleanor," Rico warned, his voice low and dangerous. "You kill her, and the trust accounts lock permanently under Swiss probate law. You get nothing."
"I don't need her alive anymore, Ricardo," Eleanor smiled coldly, her thumb pulling back the hammer of the silver revolver with a sharp CLICK. "I spent the last four years forging her digital biometric signatures. The transfer authorization goes live at midnight tonight. Alive or dead... she has served her purpose."
