Chapter 3 - Blood Ties and Iron Vows
The first shot shattered the porch light,
plunging us into a chaotic dance of muzzle flashes and shadows.
I dropped to the floor,
crawling toward the hallway as bullets chewed through the wood of the front door.
Marco was a force of nature,
returning fire with a steady,
deadly rhythm that forced the attackers to seek cover behind their vehicles.
"Get to the back!"
Marco yelled over the roar of the rain and the gunfire.
"There’s a cellar entrance under the kitchen!"
I didn't ask how he knew about the cellar.
I didn't ask about anything.
I ran to the pantry,
hauling the twins out and clutching them to my chest as we scrambled toward the trapdoor hidden under the linoleum.
I could hear the heavy boots of men entering the house above us.
The sound of glass breaking,
of my furniture being tossed aside,
of the life I had built being systematically dismantled.
We dropped into the damp,
earthy dark of the cellar just as a grenade detonated on the porch,
the shockwave rattling the very foundations of the building.
Mila screamed,
and I muffled it with my hand,
whispering stories of brave foxes into her ear while the world ended above our heads.
Minutes felt like hours.
The sounds of combat shifted,
moving from the porch into the living room,
then toward the back of the house.
I heard Marco’s voice,
ragged and shouting commands,
followed by the wet thud of a body hitting the floor above us.
Then,
silence.
A heavy,
terrifying silence that was worse than the noise.
The trapdoor creaked open,
a sliver of light cutting through the dust.
I pulled the twins deeper into the shadows,
my fingers tightening around the rolling pin.
"Elena?"
Marco’s voice was strained,
thick with exhaustion.
"It’s over.
The first wave is down."
I stood up slowly,
my legs trembling so hard I could barely balance.
Marco reached down,
his hand covered in soot and a dark smear of blood,
and helped me lift the twins out of the cellar.
The kitchen was a wreck.
The smell of cordite and rain filled the room.
On the floor lay a man I recognized—one of my father’s former bodyguards,
someone who should have been loyal to our family.
"Why him?"
I whispered,
staring at the fallen man.
"Because your sister didn't just want me,"
Marco said,
reloading his weapon with clinical efficiency.
"She wanted the inheritance.
Our father’s will stated that the bulk of the estate goes to the first grandchild of the Bellini line.
She knew you were pregnant before you did,
Elena.
She staged that night to make you run,
knowing you’d hide the kids.
Then she could declare you dead and claim the seat for herself."
He looked at the twins,
his expression softening into something so tender it broke my heart.
May you like
"She didn't count on me never giving up.
And she didn't count on them looking exactly like me."
