Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Dark
The lock clicked.
I raised my Beretta, aligning my sights with the vertical line of the doorframe. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear for my own life, but for the tiny soul resting against Hunter’s chest. If a bullet entered this room, it had to go through me first.
The door creaked open, just a fraction of an inch. A sliver of light from the hallway—illuminated by the emergency lights of the corridor—cut through the darkness of the nursery.
A silhouette stepped inside.
He was wearing tactical gear, carrying a silenced submachine gun. He didn't look toward the crib first; he looked toward the armchair where Nurse Martha lay unconscious.
"Target is neutralized," the man whispered into a throat mic. "Moving to the crib to finish the asset."
My blood boiled. Asset. They called my son an asset.
Before he could turn his head toward the corner where we hid, I fired.
Two rounds. Center mass.
The suppressed cough of my Beretta was followed by the wet thud of the assassin falling to the floor. He groaned, his weapon clattering against the hardwood. I lunged forward, grabbing his weapon and dragging him fully into the room before shutting the door and locking it from the inside again.
I pinned my knee into his chest, pressing the barrel of my gun against his temple.
"Who sent you?" I whispered, my voice a promises of agonizing death.
The man coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. He sneered, a twisted grin visible in the faint green light of the heart monitor. "You think... you're the only lion in the jungle, Rossi? Your empire... is already gone."
"Who?" I pressed harder, feeling his collarbone crack under my weight.
"The uncle..." he gasped out. "The uncle sends his... regards."
My heart stopped. The uncle.
Victor.
Sophia’s uncle, Victor Marcconi. My trusted partner. The man who had sat at my dinner table, who had cried at Sophia's funeral, who had sworn on the Bible to help me find the people who blew up our car. He was the head of the family’s financial operations. If Victor was behind this, then the betrayal ran deeper than I could have ever imagined. He didn't just want me dead; he wanted the Rossi bloodline extinguished so he could claim the entire empire for himself.
"Mr. Rossi..." Hunter’s terrified whisper broke through my shock.
I looked back. She was pressed against the wall, her hands trembling as she held Leo. But despite the gunshots, despite the dying man on the floor, Leo was asleep. For the first time in his short, painful life, his stomach was full, and he was sleeping peacefully.
The assassin beneath me took one last shuddering breath and went limp.
"We have to move," I said, standing up and wiping the blood off my hands. "The house is compromised. My guards are either dead or Victor has them bought out. I have a safehouse in Queens, but we have to get out of the estate first."
"How?" Hunter asked, her voice cracking. "The halls are full of them. I heard them talking before. They have the gates blocked."
"There is a passage," I said, walking to the built-in bookshelf on the north wall. "Sophia insisted on it when we built the nursery. She was paranoid about kidnappings. I laughed at her then. I'm not laughing now."
I pulled a leather-bound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo on the third shelf. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards as a section of the wall slid backward, revealing a dark, narrow concrete staircase leading down into the foundations of the house.
"Take Leo," I commanded, handing her a spare flashlight from the nursery drawer. "Keep him close. If he cries, cover his mouth gently. We have to be ghosts."
Hunter didn't hesitate. She looked at the dead assassin, then at me, her eyes filled with a fierce, maternal determination that surprised me. She was no longer just a terrified maid. She was a mother who had lost one child, and she was damn well not going to let another one die tonight.
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"I’m ready," she whispered.
We stepped into the dark, cold belly of the estate, the door sliding shut behind us, locking the dead and the secrets of the nursery away in the dark.
