Chapter 4 - The House Under SiegeThe Romano estate had been built for beauty.
That morning, it became a battlefield.
Guards dragged iron shutters down over the tall windows as bullets cracked against stone. The dining room filled with the smell of dust, coffee, and fear. Somewhere in the east hall, a woman screamed. Somewhere else, glass collapsed in glittering sheets.
Allessandro kept one arm around Emma and Lucia as he moved them behind the heavy oak sideboard.
“Stay down,” he ordered.
Emma’s small hands clutched Rosie against her chest.
“Sir,” she whispered, shaking. “Did I make them angry?”
Allessandro looked at her.
“No, little one,” he said. “You made them afraid.”
That answer held her together.
Barely.
His head of security, Marco, rushed in with blood on his sleeve.
“North gate is blocked. Two SUVs. Maybe eight men.”
“Matteo?”
“Not visible.”
“Isabella?”
Marco looked toward the dining room.
She was gone.
Allessandro’s eyes darkened.
“How?”
“During the first shots.”
He cursed under his breath.
Of course.
A distraction. A window. A smiling exit.
“Find her,” he said.
Marco nodded, then stopped.
“Boss, the child and her mother need to move. Safe room.”
Allessandro looked at Lucia.
She was pale, terrified, but still holding Emma as if she could shield her from every bullet in the world.
“Take them through the service passage,” Allessandro said. “No main halls.”
Lucia shook her head.
“Sir, please. We don’t belong here. Let us leave.”
“You leave, Matteo takes you first.”
Her mouth trembled.
“He knows Emma saw?”
“All of them know now.”
Emma stared at him.
The truth was cruel, but Allessandro would not insult her with a lie. This child had stood in front of death and told the truth. She deserved truth in return.
He knelt in front of her.
“Emma, listen to me. You did the right thing. Now I am going to do mine.”
She nodded, crying quietly.
Then she suddenly pushed Rosie into his hands.
He looked down at the doll.
“What is this?”
“She gets scared when I get scared,” Emma whispered. “You hold her. Then you won’t be scared.”
For the first time that morning, something inside Allessandro cracked.
Not weakness.
Something older.
Something human.
He took the doll.
“I’ll keep her safe.”
Emma nodded solemnly, as if he had accepted a sacred mission.
Marco led Lucia and Emma toward the service passage.
Before they disappeared, Emma turned back.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Miss Isabella said grown-ups have secrets.”
Allessandro’s expression softened.
“They do.”
Emma swallowed.
“But secrets always get hungry.”
Then she was gone.
Allessandro stood there holding a child’s doll in one hand while gunfire struck his house.
Marco returned seconds later.
“They’re moving.”
“Good.”
“We need to return fire.”
“No,” Allessandro said.
Marco stared at him. “Boss—”
“All bullets stop until we know where Isabella is. She wants a massacre. She wants police, headlines, chaos. We do not give her theater.”
Another guard entered.
“We found her scarf near the west stairwell.”
“Where does that lead?”
“The chapel corridor.”
Allessandro’s face changed.
The private chapel had been built by his grandmother. Behind the altar was an old passage that led beneath the estate, used during Prohibition by men who trusted tunnels more than roads.
Only family knew.
Only family.
And Isabella.
Because Matteo had told her.
Allessandro moved.
Marco followed.
They crossed the hall low, through smoke and broken plaster. The chapel corridor was colder than the rest of the house, lined with portraits of dead Romanos staring down in judgment.
At the chapel door, Allessandro paused.
A sound came from inside.
Not prayer.
Laughter.
He pushed the door open.
Isabella stood near the altar, no longer wearing her cream silk jacket. Her hair had come loose around her shoulders. In her hand was a phone.
At her feet lay Father Dominic, the old priest who lived on the property, unconscious but breathing.
Allessandro lifted his gun.
“Put it down.”
Isabella smiled into the phone.
“He’s here.”
Then she held the phone out.
On speaker, Matteo’s voice filled the chapel.
“Cousin.”
Allessandro’s grip tightened.
“Matteo.”
“I hear breakfast went poorly.”
“You missed your chance.”
“No,” Matteo said. “I adapted.”
Isabella stepped backward toward the altar.
“You have five minutes,” Matteo continued. “Walk out through the front door alone, or the maid and her daughter die before noon.”
Allessandro went still.
In the distance, behind the house, an explosion shook the walls.
May you like
The tunnel lights went out.
And Isabella disappeared through the hidden door behind the altar.
