Chapter 8 - The Cleansing of the Estate
The heavy recoil of the .45 echoed through the ruined foyer like a thunderclap.
Marco Rossi collapsed onto the hand-woven rug, his body twitching once before going completely still. The gold-tipped cane rolled out of his hand, bouncing off the bottom step of the staircase before coming to rest against my boot.
I stood over him for three seconds, watching the blood spread into the wool.
There was no joy in it. There was no grand sense of triumph or closure. The death of Marco Rossi didn't bring Mateo back from the grave in Switzerland. It didn't erase the three years of suffocating dark night I had lived through.
But as I lowered the gun, I felt the cold, heavy iron band around my chest loosen just a fraction.
Dominic lowered his shotgun, letting out a long, ragged breath that blew a small path through the smoke around his mouth. He looked at Marco’s body, then up at me, his face showing a deep, weary respect.
“Clear the house,” I ordered quietly. “Call the clean-up crews from the docks. I want every body removed, every drop of blood scrubbed from the marble, and new doors fitted on the main entrance before sunset.”
“And Lorenzo?” Dominic asked, gesturing toward the sub-basement door.
“Lorenzo sold our manifests to Marco,” I said coldly. “He knew about the child. He helped Marco’s scouts track Elena to the city. Take him out to the deep water off the coast. Let the fish have him.”
Dominic nodded once. “Consider it done, Boss.”
I turned away from the destruction in the foyer and walked back toward the hidden panel near the study.
I opened the bookcase mechanism, descended the narrow stone steps into the reinforced basement, and walked down the cold concrete corridor toward the heavy steel vault door at the end.
I punched the six-digit security code into the digital keypad.
The heavy hydraulic locks disengaged with a series of deep, metallic thuds. The three-ton steel door swung slowly outward, revealing the small, brightly lit room inside.
Elena was sitting on a wooden bench against the far wall.
She was huddled in the corner, holding Leo so tightly against her chest that her knuckles were white. She had placed her hands over the baby’s ears to muffle the sound of the gunfire from above.
When the door opened, she jumped, letting out a small, terrified gasp.
Then she saw me.
I had removed my tactical vest and my weapons, leaving them in the corridor outside. I stood in my blood-stained dress shirt, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, my face bruised and cut, but my eyes clear.
She looked past me into the dark hallway. “Is... is it over?”
“Marco Rossi is dead,” I said softly. “His men are gone. The estate is secure.”
Elena let out a long, shuddering sob, her head falling forward as tears poured down her face once again. She rocked back and forth on the wooden bench, whispering prayers of gratitude in Italian under her breath.
I stepped into the vault and walked over to her.
I slowly sank down onto my knees on the cold concrete floor in front of her bench—the second time today I had knelt before this simple, quiet maid.
Leo was awake now.
He wasn't crying. He looked at my face with those large, storm-grey eyes, his tiny mouth parting into that familiar, toothless smile. He reached out with his chubby arm, his tiny fingers brushing against the bloody cut on my cheek.
He didn't pull back from the smell of gunpowder on my clothes. He didn't fear the cuts on my skin.
He gripped my collar, pulling himself up against my chest.
I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against his soft, dark curls.
“Is it true?” I whispered to Elena, my voice trembling slightly. “What Marco said before he died... about his health? About cellular degradation?”
Elena looked down at us, her eyes clear and honest through her tears.
“It was a lie, Mr. Moretti,” she whispered softly. “Marco said that to frighten anyone who tried to steal him. I took Leo to three independent pediatric specialists in Paris before I came here. He is perfectly healthy. His blood work is normal. He’s just a beautiful, strong baby boy.”
A wave of intense, overwhelming relief washed over me, so powerful it made my breath hitch in my throat.
I lifted Leo off her lap, cradling him securely in my arms. He let out a happy, high-pitched coo, his small hand reaching up to grab my necktie, tugging on it with a firm, energetic grip.
I looked at Elena.
“You stole him from the Rossis,” I said softly. “You brought him across three borders. You took a job in my house and protected him from the cold for eight months.”
Elena lowered her eyes nervously. “I... I just wanted him to be safe, sir. I didn't mean to deceive you. I’ll pack my things now. If you want me to leave—”
“Leave?” I interrupted her, my voice gentle but firm.
May you like
She looked up, startled.
“You saved my son’s life, Elena,” I said, looking into her eyes. “You brought humanity back into a house that had been dead for three years. You are never leaving this family.”
