Chapter 5 - Blood and Glass
It was Dante, Alessandro’s head of security. His face was pale, his gun already drawn. "Three men. They bypassed the outer perimeter. They’re in the West Wing. They’re heavily armed."
Alessandro didn't panic. He moved with lethal efficiency. He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a matte-black Glock 19, and chambered a round. The metallic clack echoed loudly in the room.
"The West Wing," Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Where the kitchens are."
My blood ran cold. Absolute, paralyzing terror gripped my heart.
"Emma," I gasped, jumping out of my chair. "Maria took Emma to the kitchen ten minutes ago to get her a warm glass of milk!"
I didn't think. The maternal instinct overrode every ounce of logic and self-preservation I possessed. I bolted for the door.
"Elena, stop!" Alessandro roared, but I was already running down the hallway.
I tore off my expensive heels, sprinting barefoot down the marble corridors. The mansion felt like a labyrinth. My lungs burned. Please, God, let her be okay. Please.
I rounded the corner to the West Wing just as the sound of shattering glass tore through the air.
I skidded to a halt at the entrance of the massive, industrial kitchen. The French doors leading to the gardens had been blown inward, glass glittering on the tile floor like ice.
Standing in the center of the kitchen was a man in a black tactical mask. In his left hand, he held a massive assault rifle. In his right hand, he had Maria by the hair.
And huddled beneath the steel prep table, clutching her stuffed rabbit and sobbing silently, was Emma.
"Well, well," the masked man sneered, his eyes locking onto me. "Lorenzo said the little rat would come running if we made some noise. You caused a lot of trouble for the Cole family, bitch."
He dropped Maria to the floor and raised his rifle, pointing it squarely at my chest.
"No! Please!" I screamed, diving toward the prep table to shield Emma with my body.
A gunshot rang out. Deafening. Shattering.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the burning impact. Waiting to die.
The impact never came.
A heavy thud shook the floorboards. I opened my eyes. The masked man was on his back, a neat, dark hole right between his eyes.
Standing in the doorway, smoke still drifting from the barrel of his Glock, was Alessandro.
He didn't look like a billionaire businessman anymore. He looked like the monster the newspapers claimed he was. The Don. The Reaper of New York.
Two more masked men flooded through the broken French doors, shouting. Alessandro didn't hesitate. He moved like liquid violence. Two more shots. Two more bodies hit the floor. The entire engagement lasted less than four seconds.
The kitchen plunged into a dead, ringing silence, broken only by Emma’s soft crying.
I scrambled out from under the table, pulling Emma into my arms, burying her face in my shoulder so she couldn't see the blood pooling on the white tiles. I was shaking so violently my teeth rattled.
Alessandro slowly lowered his gun. He looked at the bodies, then at me. His chest heaved. He walked across the room, stepping over a corpse without a second glance, and dropped to his knees right in front of us.
He reached out, his large hands gripping my shoulders. His fingers were stained with gunpowder, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place. Panic? Fear? "Elena, look at me. Are you hurt?"
"N-no," I sobbed, clutching Emma. "We're okay. We're okay."
Alessandro let out a ragged breath and did something that shocked me to my core. He pulled us both into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around me and my daughter, burying his face in my hair. He held us fiercely, like we were the most precious things in his violent, bloody world.
"I swear to you," Alessandro whispered fiercely into my ear, his voice trembling with a dark, terrifying vow. "I am going to burn the Cole family to the ground. I will leave nothing but ashes. No one will ever touch you again, Elena. You are mine to protect now."
I clung to his bloodstained shirt, closing my eyes.
I had survived the night. But as Alessandro held me against the backdrop of shattered glass and dead men, I realized the terrifying truth.
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I was no longer just the housekeeper. I had just become the most important weakness of the most dangerous man in New York.
And the war had only just begun.
