Chapter 4 - Blood and Ballistics
The rain hammered against the reinforced glass of the grand foyer as Nico stood motionless near the entrance.
Two of his private security operators stood behind the marble pillars, their tactical rifles held at low ready.
The heavy front doors swung open, bringing with them a rush of cold autumn wind and damp mist.
A man in a charcoal tactical windbreaker stepped across the threshold, shaking water from his shoulders.
He was in his late forties, with silvering crew-cut hair, pale predatory eyes, and an unreadable, flat expression.
Major Vance Cross looked around the opulent entryway with the disdain of a predator entering an unfamiliar cage.
“Nico Romano, it has been a long time since your father’s funeral.”
Nico did not move an inch, his hands resting casually inside his trouser pockets.
“You are trespassing on private property, Major.”
Cross produced a black leather folder from his jacket, holding it out with two fingers.
“Special Operations Command override, signed by the Undersecretary of Defense.”
Nico didn't even look at the folder.
“My father wrote the guidelines for those overrides, Cross, and you know as well as I do they have no jurisdiction on private residential grounds without a federal marshal present.”
Cross gave a thin, humorless smile that did not reach his pale eyes.
“We are not here for your art collection, Romano.”
“Then state your business and get off my estate before I have my men shoot you for armed intrusion.”
Cross stepped forward, his boots leaving wet, muddy prints across the polished Italian marble.
“We are here for Mia Walker, she is carrying sensitive Department of Defense material.”
Nico let out a dry, dismissive chuckle.
“She is a pregnant twenty-four-year-old girl who works for a catering temp agency.”
Cross’s eyes flickered with a sudden, dangerous intensity.
“She is carrying more than just a tray of champagne glasses, Romano.”
Nico’s jaw tightened, the venom rising in his throat.
“What does that mean?”
“She is carrying the biological progeny of Captain Jacob Romano.”
The words echoed through the cavernous foyer, bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings like rifle shots.
Nico kept his breathing perfectly steady, refusing to give the operative a single crumb of confirmation.
“Jake Romano died eighteen months ago in an armored convoy explosion in Afghanistan, you wrote the report yourself.”
Cross took another slow step forward, closing the distance until barely three feet separated them.
“We both know that report was a procedural convenience, Nico.”
Nico felt the cold steel of the concealed pistol against his ribs, his knuckles tightening in his pockets.
“You told our family he was dead.”
“Your father agreed it was the best course of action for everyone involved.”
Nico felt a sudden, sickening jolt deep in his chest.
“My father knew?”
Cross tilted his head, studying Nico’s face with cold amusement.
“Your father signed the authorization to declare him killed in action, Jake had become a liability to the defense network.”
Beneath the estate, deep inside the damp brick corridors of the old wine cellar, Mia followed Sergeant Reed.
The old veteran moved with surprising speed, a tactical flashlight cutting a narrow yellow beam through the dark.
Mia held her hand over her stomach, every breath burning in her chest as they navigated the labyrinthine foundation.
“Reed, wait,” she gasped, leaning against the cold stone wall to catch her breath.
Reed stopped immediately, shining the light toward her feet to avoid blinding her.
“Are you all right, Mia?”
“The baby is kicking hard, I just need thirty seconds.”
She looked down at the dog tags resting outside her uniform, catching the reflection of the flashlight beam.
She lifted the metal plates to inspect them closely in the dim illumination.
Along the outer edge of the second tag, just inside the protective black rubber silencer groove, she noticed something strange.
A series of microscopic numbers had been hand-carved into the steel using a diamond-tipped scribe.
It was not the standard military serial number or blood type stamped across the front face.
“Reed, look at this.”
The veteran stepped closer, taking the tag between his calloused thumb and forefinger.
He brought the flashlight beam down until it was inches from the metal, squinting his aged eyes.
“That’s not an Army serial format.”
“What is it?” Mia whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“It’s a latitude and longitude coordinate set, followed by a six-digit alphanumeric key.”
Mia remembered the day Jake had placed the chain around her neck in their Queens apartment.
He had held her face in his warm, calloused hands, his eyes full of an unspeakable sadness.
“Keep these close to your skin, Mia, no matter what happens, don't ever take them off or sell them.”
She had thought it was just a soldier’s sentimentality.
Now she understood it was a safety deposit box key disguised as a memory.
Upstairs, the sharp sound of shattering glass tore through the silence of the mansion.
Cross’s voice boomed down the main gallery with lethal finality.
“Find the girl, secure the child, eliminate any unauthorized witnesses.”
May you like
Nico’s pistol cleared his holster in a fraction of a second, the report of his firearm deafening inside the enclosed foyer.
The battle for Jake Romano’s legacy had officially begun.
