Chapter 6 - Blood on the SnowThe warmth of the estate’s grand foyer hit my frozen skin like a physical embrace. A team of medical professionals—discreetly summoned by Dominic—immediately guided me to a plush armchair by the roaring stone fireplace, checking my vitals, wrapping me in heated blankets, and pressing a cup of hot broth into my shaking hands.
Dominic never left my side. He knelt beside my chair, one large hand resting firmly, possessively over my baby bump, feeling every subtle movement as our child reacted to the warmth and safety of the room.
“The baby is strong,” the private doctor announced with a reassuring smile after completing a quick ultrasound scan with a portable monitor. “Heart rate is textbook perfect, Mr. Russo. She’s a fighter. Just like her mother.”
A profound, visible weight lifted from Dominic’s shoulders. He exhaled a long, shuddering breath, pressing a tender kiss against my knuckles.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Dominic said quietly. “Dismissed.”
As the medical staff packed their equipment and quietly exited toward the west wing, leaving only Marcus and two trusted guards stationed by the heavy oak front doors, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
The domestic peace was shattered in a single, deafening instant.
CRASH.
The reinforced glass of the grand foyer’s floor-to-ceiling windows exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards.
“Ambush!” Marcus roared, drawing his weapon and diving behind a marble pillar as automatic gunfire ripped through the room.
“Get down!” Dominic shouted, throwing his body over mine, shielding me with his own flesh as bullets pinged off the stone fireplace and shattered antique vases across the room.
Panic spiked my heart rate. I screamed, clutching my stomach as glass and plaster rained down around us.
“Stay down, Megan! Look at me!” Dominic commanded, his voice dead calm, shifting instantly from a grieving lover into a ruthless mafia warlord.
Through the shattered window frames, three masked figures clad in tactical black scrambled onto the terrace, weapons raised. Moretti loyalists. They had tracked the transport vehicle, desperate for one final act of bloody vengeance against the man who had dismantled their empire.
Marcus and the estate guards returned fire with lethal precision. Two of the intruders dropped instantly, tumbling backward off the stone terrace into the snow.
The third assassin—a heavily scarred veteran named Dante Moretti—managed to dive inside the foyer, rolling behind a mahogany sofa with his assault rifle aimed directly at the hearth where Dominic and I cowered.
“Russo!” Dante screamed over the ringing gunfire, his finger twitching on the trigger. “You took everything from us! Now watch your little whore and your bastard bleed!”
Before Dante could squeeze the trigger, Dominic moved with terrifying, blinding speed.
He didn't reach for his gun. He snatched a heavy, ornate brass fireplace poker from the hearth, whipped his arm back, and hurled it with lethal, javelin-like force across the room.
The heavy brass rod struck Dante squarely in the chest, the momentum slamming the assassin backward against the shattered window frame with a sickening crunch. His rifle clattered uselessly against the hardwood floor as he slumped forward, motionless.
Silence descended upon the foyer, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the heavy, ragged breathing of the guards.
Marcus stepped out from behind the marble pillar, kicking a dropped weapon away from the fallen intruder before looking toward Dominic.
“Area secure, Boss. All targets neutralized.”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He slowly turned his head back to look down at me, his hands shaking slightly as he checked my body for any sign of injury.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice strained with fierce panic. “Megan, talk to me.”
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“I’m okay,” I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder. “I’m okay, Dominic. The baby is okay.”
Dominic wrapped his arms around us both, pulling us so tight against his chest that it felt as though he wanted to fuse our bodies together. He closed his eyes, kissing the top of my head over and over again as the snow continued to fall outside the broken windows, washing the blood from the stone.
