Chapter 4 - shadows on the estate
The peace inside the fortress was an illusion, and everyone inside knew it.
By Sunday night, the weather took a violent turn. The skies over the Hudson Valley turned an ominous bruised purple, dumping sheets of torrential rain against the reinforced bulletproof glass of the mansion. Thunder rattled the foundation at irregular intervals, masking the normal sounds of the wilderness.
Marco DeLuca, Adrian’s longtime head of security, stepped into the master study with mud on his tactical boots and water dripping from the brim of his black coat. Marco was a bear of a man, forty-four years old with short-cropped grey hair, hollow cheeks, and eyes that had seen too many men die.
Adrian looked up from his desk. "Report."
Marco shut the heavy mahogany door behind him, his expression tight. "Two perimeter sensors along the southern tree line went dark twenty minutes ago. Could be the storm. Trees taking down high-voltage lines. But my gut says otherwise."
Adrian’s jaw tightened. "The Salieri faction?"
"They know you were injured in the highway hit last month," Marco said bluntly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "They think you're crippled. They know the baby is here. If they're ever going to strike for the crown, tonight's the night. The river is flooded, shutting down county response times by at least forty minutes."
Adrian’s eyes grew ice-cold. He reached down and opened a drawer beneath his desk, pulling out a matte-black Sig Sauer 9mm and checking the slide with smooth, practiced efficiency. "Double the patrols around the east wing. Put four men directly outside Melissa’s bedroom. If anyone breaches the inner courtyard, initiate total lockdown."
"Understood," Marco nodded, turning to leave.
"Marco," Adrian called out.
The security chief paused at the door. "Yeah, boss?"
"Nothing touches that room. Nothing."
"On my life, Adrian."
Inside the bedroom down the hall, Melissa was already pacing the floor. Her instincts, honed by a childhood spent listening for the sound of car doors slamming in the dead of night, were screaming.
She had dressed Matteo in a thick cream onesie, wrapping him in three layers of soft blankets. Her own maternity dress had been traded for durable black slacks and a soft charcoal sweater. Her dark hair was braided tight against her scalp.
She stood near the dark window, watching the rain lash against the glass. Distant flashes of lightning lit up the outer perimeter fence, and for a split second, she caught the silhouette of moving shadows near the tree line.
They weren't security guards. They were moving in a tactical wedge formation, cutting through the shadows toward the east terrace.
Melissa’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew that formation. She had seen it ten years ago when the rival syndicates had stormed her father’s estate in Chicago, wiping out the Romano dynasty in a single night of bloodless betrayal.
Adrian rolled his chair into the bedroom, his face grim. "Melissa."
She turned instantly, holding Matteo tight to her chest. "They're here, aren't they?"
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Adrian looked at her, surprised by how quickly she had assessed the situation. Most women in her position would be crying, asking questions, panicking. Melissa stood straight, her posture alert, her eyes wide but calculating.
Before Adrian could answer, the sudden wail of the estate’s interior sirens pierced the air.
