Chapter 5 - The Rival's Trap and the Midnight Intruder
By the end of my first week at the Rinaldi estate, the impossible had happened.
The house was still a fortress, guarded by men in sunglasses who patrolled the perimeter with assault rifles tucked inside their trench coats, but inside, the atmosphere had shifted from a war zone to something resembling a home.
Marco actually asked me for help with his algebra homework instead of throwing books at my head. Nico stopped sliding across the buttered counters and started helping me prep vegetables. Even Leo, the brooding fifteen-year-old, emerged from his cave long enough to eat a proper breakfast of eggs Benedict and fresh espresso.
And Tommy... sweet, fragile Tommy had stopped clutching his stuffed rabbit every time a door slammed. He sat beside me at the kitchen island every afternoon, drawing pictures of our family—including a stick figure with glasses that looked suspiciously like his father.
Victor watched it all from the periphery. He observed us like a hawk perched on a high branch, always quiet, always calculating, but showing up at the dinner table every single night at 7:30 p.m. sharp.
Until Friday night.
The storm that had been brewing all afternoon finally broke over Manhattan just as the clock struck midnight. Lightning flashed across the sky, turning the gothic spires of the mansion silver, followed by thunder that shook the windowpanes.
I was sitting in the third-floor library, reading a bedtime story to Tommy, who had fallen asleep curled up on the velvet sofa with his head in my lap.
Suddenly, the house went pitch black.
The emergency generators kicked on two seconds later, but instead of the warm, amber wall sconces, harsh red strobe lights began flashing down the hallways.
ALARM. SECURITY BREACH. SECTOR FOUR. EAST WING.
A computerized voice echoed through the mansion's intercom system.
Tommy bolted upright, his eyes wide with stark terror. "Mommy... what's happening?" he screamed, his voice cracking.
"Shh, sweetie, look at me," I said, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. I grabbed him, pulling him off the sofa and shielding his small body with mine. "Remember what we practiced? We're going to the panic room behind the bookshelf in your father's study. Right now."
"What about Marco and the others?" Tommy sobbed.
"They're with Marcus. Go!"
I shoved Tommy down the hallway toward the master study, his little sneakers pounding against the marble. Just as we reached the heavy oak doors, the lights in the hallway flickered and died completely.
A chilling sound echoed from the courtyard below.
Gunfire.
Silenced pistols. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Someone had breached the perimeter.
I shoved Tommy inside the study, spinning the dial on the hidden wall safe that doubled as the panic room release. "Get inside, Tommy. Lock it from the inside and don't open it for anyone except me or your father. Do you understand?"
"No! Come with me!" he cried, clutching my jacket.
"I'll be right outside. Go!"
I pushed him into the dark, reinforced steel chamber and slammed the door shut, hearing the heavy automated locks engage with a satisfying clack.
I turned around, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was unarmed, terrified, and standing in the middle of a mafia war zone.
Suddenly, a heavy shadow loomed at the end of the dark hallway.
A masked man dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear rounded the corner, holding a suppressed submachine gun aimed straight at my chest.
My survival instincts, honed by years of fighting for my life against an abusive ex and surviving the harsh streets of the outer boroughs, took over.
As the intruder lunged forward to grab me, I didn't scream. I grabbed a heavy, solid-brass antique candlestick from the mahogany desk and smashed it with every ounce of strength I had straight across the bridge of his tactical helmet.
CRACK.
The man staggered backward, cursing in Italian.
Before he could recover, a dark, lethal blur dropped from the second-floor balcony directly onto his shoulders.
Victor Rinaldi.
He didn't use a gun. He used his bare hands, wrapping his forearm around the intruder's throat with vicious, practiced brutality. With a sickening crunch, the man went limp, collapsing to the floor in a heap.
Victor stood over the body, breathing heavily, his white shirt stained with blood that wasn't his. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine through the red emergency strobe lights.
"Are the boys safe?" Victor demanded, his voice dangerously low.
May you like
"They're in the panic room," I breathed, my knees finally buckling as the adrenaline rush began to fade. "Tommy is inside. The others are with Marcus."
Victor didn't hesitate. He crossed the hallway in two long strides, grabbed me by the waist, and hauled me up against his chest as if I weighed nothing at all, carrying me away from the danger zone toward his private quarters.
