Chapter 4 - The Storm BreaksI froze. "What?"
I pushed past Dominic and rushed toward the nursery kitchen nook where the new sealed tubs of specialized infant formula were stored.
I picked up the latest opened canister. I immediately noticed something wrong—the fine white powder had a tiny, almost invisible yellowish tint near the bottom rim, and the faint smell of bitter almonds lingered beneath the sweet vanilla scent of the formula.
Potassium cyanide or digitalis compound.
My nursing instincts screamed.
“Nobody fed him from this tub today, right?” I demanded, turning to Marco, my voice shaking with fury. “Tell me nobody gave him this!”
“No,” Marco stammered. “You prepare all his bottles personally, Clara. The housemaid noticed the broken outer seal on the stock boxes in the pantry ten minutes ago.”
Dominic stood beside me, his face transformed into something terrifying. The air in the room became lethal.
“Who had access to the pantry delivery?” Dominic asked, his voice a low, terrifying whisper.
“The supply truck came from our primary medical vendor in West Loop,” Marco said, sweating under Dominic’s gaze. “The driver was one of our trusted men... but he was found dead in an alley two hours ago. Someone hijacked the truck, swapped the sealed cases, and let the backup driver complete the delivery.”
Lombardi. He couldn't beat Dominic on the streets, so he was targeting an innocent three-week-old child.
“Pack your things,” Dominic said to me instantly.
I looked at him, startled. “What?”
“Lombardi has breached my supply chain,” Dominic said, pulling out his phone and barking orders to his tactical teams. “The estate is no longer completely secure. I’m moving you and Matteo to the safe house in Wisconsin. Private airstrip, subterranean bunker, zero digital footprint.”
“And what about you?” I asked, grabbing his arm.
Dominic looked down at my hand on his arm, then met my eyes with a fierce, burning resolve. “I am going to end the Lombardi family tonight, Clara. Every last one of them.”
Before I could reply, a loud explosion rocked the south gate of the estate.
The heavy glass windows of the nursery rattled violently. Alarms began blaring across the fifty-acre property—high-pitched, deafening sirens accompanied by flashing red security lights.
“They’re here!” Marco yelled, pulling two submachine guns from a wall locker. “They bypassed the road checks! They have heavy firepower!”
Gunfire erupted in the distance—the heavy, rhythmic thud of automatic rifles echoing across the front lawn.
Dominic didn't panic. He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me close. “Marco! Take Clara and Matteo through the underground service tunnel to the panic room beneath the boathouse! Do not stop for anything!”
“Dominic, no! Come with us!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face as the sound of splintering wood and gunfire grew closer.
“I am the target, Clara!” Dominic roared over the sirens. “If I come with you, I bring the fight to you! I stay here and draw their fire! Now go!”
He grabbed my head in his hands and kissed me deeply, fiercely, a promise of survival sealed against my lips. Then he pulled Matteo’s bassinet carrier, handed it to me, and drew his weapons.
“Keep our son safe,” he whispered.
May you like
“I will,” I promised.
Marco pulled me toward the hidden door behind the nursery bookshelf. As the door swung shut, I saw Dominic turn toward the main hallway, two handguns drawn, stepping into the storm like a dragon defending his mountain.
