Chapter 10 - Shadows in the Dark
Through the narrow crack of the louvered wardrobe door, I watched the bedroom floor dissolve into deep, shifting shadows.
The moonlight filtering through the reinforced glass windows cast long, eerie silhouettes across the Persian rug.
A man stepped into view.
He wore a matte-black tactical uniform, his face obscured by a neoprene balaclava except for a pair of cold, calculating eyes that scanned the luxurious master suite with terrifying efficiency.
In his right hand, he held a suppressed Sig Sauer pistol, the barrel pointed downward in a ready, low-ready stance.
Behind him, a second operative slipped through the doorway, moving with the silent, practiced grace of a seasoned black-ops soldier.
My heart pounded so loudly in my ears I was terrified they would hear it echoing through the empty wardrobe.
Please, God, I prayed frantically in my head, pressing my palms flat against my mouth to stifle my breathing. Please let Leah stay asleep. Please let her not make a sound.
The first intruder walked slowly toward the king-sized bed, his boots making a faint, muffled scuff against the plush carpet.
He stopped right beside the mattress.
My entire body went rigid.
Through the dim light, I saw him lean over the edge of the bed, the muzzle of his suppressed weapon drifting toward the pile of pillows where Leah was sleeping under the duvet.
"Clear," the first man whispered through his comm-earpiece, his voice a harsh rasp. "Target bed is empty."
Empty?
Confusion flashed through my mind for a fraction of a second before the realization hit me like a lightning bolt.
Leah wasn't in the bed.
Before the intruders could register the empty mattress, a sudden, blinding flash of white light erupted from the en-suite bathroom doorway.
BANG! BANG!
Two deafening gunshots shattered the quiet of the room, sending wood splinters flying off the mahogany dresser as a hail of retaliatory fire tore through the air.
"Ambush! We've got movement in the sector!" the second intruder shouted, spinning around and raising his pistol toward the bathroom.
From the shadows of the en-suite doorway, Luca—Damian’s head caporegime—stepped out wearing a tactical vest over his black turtleneck, dual Berettas blazing in his hands.
"You picked the wrong house to play ghost, boys," Luca snarled, firing two precise rounds that caught the second intruder squarely in the chest, dropping him instantly to the floor.
The first intruder spun around, bringing his pistol up to engage Luca, but before he could squeeze the trigger, the wardrobe door burst open.
Acting on pure, unadulterated maternal survival instinct, I grabbed a heavy, solid-brass decorative statue from the top shelf of the closet, leaped out of the darkness, and brought the metal object down across the back of the intruder's helmet with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The man staggered forward, stunned by the heavy blow, dropping his weapon as his knees buckled.
Luca didn't hesitate. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, driving the butt of his pistol into the intruder's temple and sending the assassin crashing unconscious to the hardwood floor.
Heavy silence descended over the room once more, broken only by the smell of cordite and ozone hanging thick in the air.
Luca lowered his weapons, exhaling a sharp breath, and looked over at me standing frozen with the heavy brass statue still clutched in my trembling hands.
"Well," Luca muttered, a grim, approving smirk touching the corner of his lips. "I see why the boss put a ring on it. You've got Caruso blood in you now, Clara."
Before I could answer, a small, sleepy voice piped up from behind the heavy velvet armchair near the fireplace.
May you like
"Mama?"
I dropped the brass statue, letting it hit the rug with a dull thud, and sprinted across the room, scooping Leah into my arms as she rubbed her heavy green eyes, completely oblivious to the dead men lying on the floor a few feet away.
