Chapter 8 - The Enemy in the House
The Rossi boss stood in my home, dripping blood onto my Persian rug.
Vincent Rossi was older now, his hair completely silver, but the cruelty in his eyes hadn't aged a day. He looked at Dominic’s raised gun with mild amusement.
“You shoot me, Dominic, and my men outside will burn this house to the ground with your wife and grandson in it,” Vincent said casually.
Dominic didn't lower his weapon. “You’re a dead man, Vincent. You stepped into my house.”
“I stepped into a grave,” Vincent corrected. “Yours.”
He snapped his fingers.
From the shattered front window, three heavily armed men stepped into the living room, their rifles aimed directly at Dominic and Jack.
I pulled Leo tight against my side, shielding him with my body. Sophia was still bleeding out on the floor behind me, unconscious.
“Give me the ledger, Jack,” Vincent demanded, holding out a bloody hand.
Jack stared at his former boss, his fists clenched. “You lied to me. You told me Elena was murdered. You made me kill for you!”
“I made you useful,” Vincent sneered. “Elena was weak. She died bleeding out in a warehouse because she couldn't handle the birth. But she gave me the boy. And the boy gave me you.”
Jack let out a primal scream and lunged forward.
Bang.
The gunshot deafened the room.
Jack stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder. Blood instantly bloomed through his leather jacket. He hit the floor hard.
“Daddy!” Leo screamed, burying his face in my skirt.
“Jack!” I fell to my knees beside him. He was breathing, but in shock.
I looked up at Dominic. My husband, the fearsome mafia boss, hadn't fired. He was surrounded. He had lost.
Vincent walked over and picked up the bloody ledger from the floor. He smiled, wiping the blood off the leather cover.
“Thirty years of rivalry, Dominic,” Vincent said. “And it ends because you couldn't control your own son.”
Vincent looked down at me. Then at Leo. “I’ll be taking the boy back now. He’s valuable property.”
“Over my dead body,” I snarled, pulling Leo tighter.
“That is exactly the plan, Rose,” Vincent said, raising his gun to my head.
I closed my eyes. I prayed for Jack. I prayed for Leo.
“Wait.”
The voice didn't come from Dominic. It didn't come from Jack.
It came from the hallway stairs.
We all looked up.
Standing on the landing, wearing a simple black dress, was a woman. Her face was pale, her dark hair pulled back. She looked older, tired, but undeniably alive.
Jack gasped, ignoring the bullet in his shoulder. “Elena?”
The reversal struck the room like lightning. Elena wasn't dead.
Vincent stared at her, genuinely shocked. “Impossible. I saw you die.”
Elena walked slowly down the stairs. Around her neck, she wore a thick, antique necklace—a Moretti family heirloom.
“You saw a body double die, Vincent,” Elena said, her voice steady.
She looked at Dominic. “Tell him, Dominic. Tell him who really kept me hidden for the last two years.”
Dominic lowered his gun. A grim, exhausted smile touched his lips.
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“I told you, Vincent,” Dominic said softly. “A Moretti does not run away with a nobody. But a Moretti will do whatever it takes to destroy his enemies.”
Elena reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a detonator.
