Chapter 5 - The Silver Blade
The world narrowed to a pinhole of absolute, lethal violence.
"Drop the blade," Dante said.
His voice was terrifyingly quiet—the cold, level tone he used moments before executing a traitor. It made the air in the room freeze.
Clara Bell clutched the hem of Dante’s trousers, her face stained with tears, her blonde curls disheveled as she pointed a shaking, blood-streaked finger toward the crib.
"She attacked me!" Clara sobbed, her voice breaking with raw panic. "I came in to check his formula, and she was standing over him with that surgical scalpel! She pushed me away and climbed right over the rails! I tried to stop her, but she’s insane, Dante! Please—shoot her before she cuts him again!"
Dante raised the heavy black pistol until the tritium sights aligned with Vivienne’s temple. His finger rested lightly against the curved metal of the trigger. One twitch of his index finger would end her life instantly.
Vivienne still did not look at him.
Her entire body was rigid, her hands steady as rock despite the horrific tableau. She was staring intently at the infant’s face—at the terrifying, unnatural blue shadow spreading rapidly across Leo’s lips.
"He isn’t breathing," she said, her voice completely detached from the mortal danger she was in.
"You have three seconds," Dante hissed, cocking the hammer. The metallic clack echoed loudly over the howling wind outside.
"His airway has closed," Vivienne stated, her eyes locked on the baby’s throat.
"Two."
"If I stop now, he dies."
"One."
Vivienne lowered the blade just an inch, her eyes flashing up to meet Dante’s cold, murderous gaze for a single fraction of a second.
Dante pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the nursery window, sending shards of safety glass spraying across the floor and letting the freezing gale roar into the room. For one agonizing heartbeat, the entire world seemed to hold its breath with the infant.
Then, a miracle occurred.
Leo’s small chest convulsed violently. A thin, ragged, desperate cry escaped his tiny lungs, filling the room with the sound of life.
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The sound brought Dante Moretti crashing to his knees.
The heavy pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly against the Persian rug.
