Chapter 4 - The Vultures Circle
The silence in the small apartment stretched so thin it felt like spun glass. Aleandro stood frozen, his eyes locked on the sleeping three-year-old girl. The pieces of a puzzle he had refused to look at for years suddenly snapped together with brutal, undeniable clarity.
The brown eyes. The quiet, unnatural resilience. The age.
She's yours.
Before Aleandro could process the seismic shift ripping through his carefully constructed reality, the sharp, distinctive crack of a silenced pistol echoed from the hallway outside.
Wood splintered as a bullet tore through the thin door frame, burying itself an inch from Ruth’s head.
"Get down!" Aleandro roared, dropping instantly into a defensive crouch, his hand instinctively flying to the Sig Sauer tucked into his waistband.
In a fraction of a second, the door flew open under the weight of a tactical kick. Two masked men in black tactical gear poured into the apartment, weapons raised, professional and lethal. They weren't low-level street thugs; they moved with the synchronized precision of black-ops mercenaries.
Treason.
Someone inside the Castellano syndicate knew he was here. Someone wanted the bloodline wiped out completely before Aleandro could claim his heir.
Aleandro drew his weapon and fired twice through the dim light. The first intruder dropped instantly, a clean headshot putting him down before he hit the floor. The second man dived behind the kitchen counter, returning fire. Shards of ceramic plates and plaster exploded across the room.
"Ruth! Get Annie under the table!" Aleandro yelled over the deafening clatter of gunfire.
Ruth didn't hesitate. Despite her failing lungs, she scrambled across the floor, scooping the sleeping toddler into her arms and dragging her behind the heavy oak dining table.
Aleandro stalked forward, his face a mask of cold, unmitigated fury. In his world, betrayal was expected, but touching his family—touching his daughter—was a sin punishable by absolute annihilation. He rounded the kitchen counter, grabbed the second intruder by the tactical vest, slammed his head against the tile wall with sickening force, and pressed the barrel of his gun against the man's throat.
"Who sent you?" Aleandro whispered, his voice sounding like grinding stones.
The assassin coughed up blood, a dark, defiant smirk twisting his lips. "It’s too late, Castellano... Marco has the main estate. Your own table sold you out."
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Aleandro didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, letting the body slump lifelessly to the floor.
He turned around slowly, his chest heaving, his eyes locking onto Ruth and the wide-awake, terrified little girl peering out from beneath the table.
