Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Past
"Stay here!" Vincent ordered, pulling a heavy custom Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster in one fluid motion.
"No! Luca!" I scrambled off the bed, running after him into the hallway.
The mansion was in complete chaos. Gunfire rattled from the lower levels—muffled, rapid bursts of automatic weapons echoing up the grand marble staircase. Smoke began to drift up through the air vents, smelling of sulfur and burnt rubber.
Vincent turned, grabbing my arm with a grip like steel. "I said stay—"
"I am not leaving Luca!" I shouted back, glaring directly into his dark eyes. "He's two years old! He's alone in that room!"
Vincent swore under his breath, but he didn't push me back. "Behind me. Don't leave my shadow."
We sprinted down the long hallway toward Luca’s room. The door was already ajar. My heart stopped.
Vincent kicked the door wide open, his gun raised.
Inside, two men in black tactical gear were standing over Luca’s crib. One of them had a heavy black duffel bag open, while the other was reaching down to snatch the sleeping child. Luca was screaming, thrashing violently.
"Get your hands off him!" Vincent roared.
He fired two shots. The lead attacker collapsed instantly. The second man swung around, firing a burst from a submachine gun. Plaster exploded from the wall right beside my head.
Vincent shoved me behind a heavy oak wardrobe and returned fire with deadly, terrifying precision. The second intruder slumped against the windowsill, falling back out into the rainy night.
I didn't wait for Vincent's command. I sprinted across the ruined bedroom, leaping over the debris, and scooped Luca out of his crib into my arms.
"I've got you! I've got you, baby, you're safe!" I sobbed, holding his head against my shoulder, shielding his eyes from the blood on the floor.
Luca clung to me like a baby monkey, his tiny fingers digging into my sweater, his crying slowly subsiding into desperate gasps against my neck.
Vincent stood over the fallen intruder, using the toe of his boot to turn the man's body over. He reached down and pulled a brass emblem off the dead man’s vest.
It was a crest featuring two crossed daggers over a snake.
"Moretti," Vincent growled, his face twisted in cold fury. "They breached my perimeter. Someone inside this house gave them the security codes."
He turned to look at me. I was kneeling on the carpet, clutching Luca tightly, my hair wild, my clothes covered in dust and plaster. Yet, I hadn't let go of his son for a single second.
Vincent walked over to us. He knelt down on one knee, dropping his gun back into its holster. He reached out and gently brushed a streak of drywall dust from my cheek. His fingers lingered against my skin, surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle for a man whose hands dealt in death.
"You didn't run," he said softly, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite mask.
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"I told him I wouldn't leave," I whispered, looking straight into his eyes. "I don't break my promises."
Vincent looked at me for a long time, the cold wall around his heart visibly crumbling. "Then neither will I. I promise you, Ruby... no one touches a hair on your head while you are under my roof."
