Chapter 3 - Blood in the MarblesThe marble hallways of the Manhattan mansion were usually filled with the quiet, respectful hum of well-trained staff and the soft classical music Alessandro preferred during his rare moments of rest. Tonight, they echoed with the sharp, violent cracks of gunfire and the heavy thud of combat boots against imported stone.
Alessandro moved like a phantom through the east wing. Years of surviving street wars in Naples and corporate executions in New York had honed his instincts to a razor’s edge.
As he reached the grand staircase overlooking the foyer, two of Marcus’s tactical operatives were moving up the steps, their weapons sweeping the dark corners.
Alessandro didn't hesitate. He stepped out from behind a massive marble pillar, fired twice with lethal precision, and both men dropped silently down the steps, their bodies tumbling into the grand entryway below.
“Clear!” Alessandro shouted into his comms, stepping over the fallen guards.
“Boss! They’ve breached the main security bunker!” Wesley’s voice crackled through the earpiece, strained and breathless. “They’re heading toward the east drawing room! They know where the ledger is, and they know about—boss, watch out!”
A heavy burst of automatic fire chewed through the mahogany wall beside Alessandro’s head, showering him in splinters and white plaster.
He ducked behind a structural archway, returning fire blindly down the corridor until he heard the metallic click of an empty magazine and a muffled curse from his attacker.
Stepping around the corner, Alessandro closed the distance with terrifying speed, slamming the butt of his pistol into the temple of the third operative before the man could reload, sending him crashing unconscious to the floor.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, but adrenaline kept the pain at bay. He knew exactly where Marcus was heading. The east drawing room.
Where Sophia and little Emma were locked behind a wooden door that wouldn't hold against a single shotgun blast.
With a surge of primal panic that terrified even him, Alessandro abandoned all tactical caution and sprinted down the hallway, his boots pounding against the floor until he reached the double doors of the east drawing room.
The heavy oak doors were splintered around the brass lock. Someone had already tried to kick them in.
Alessandro jammed his shoulder against the wood, bursting into the room with his weapon raised—only to stop dead in his tracks.
May you like
The room was empty.
The French windows leading out to the garden were shattered wide open, the cold rain blowing in to drench the Persian rug. Isabella was gone. And on the center table, right beside the untouched whiskey glass, lay a single, blood-stained envelope addressed to Alessandro.
