Chapter 3 - DARKNESS AND DEBTS
The red emergency light kicked in,
bathing the room in a bloody,
unearthly glow.
Lorenzo pulled his gun again,
moving with a fluid,
predatory grace.
“Stay behind the crib,”
he commanded,
his eyes fixed on the door.
I knelt on the floor,
my hand resting on the wooden slats of Leo’s bed.
“My ex-boyfriend,”
I whispered,
the words feeling like poison.
“He’s a small-time criminal,”
“he owes money to everyone.”
Lorenzo didn't look back at me,
but I saw his ears perk up.
“He’s the reason I lost my baby,”
I continued,
the memory of the staircase flashes in my mind.
“He pushed me,”
“he killed her.”
“And now he’s coming for me because of the money he owes your people.”
Lorenzo’s voice was low and gravelly.
“My people don't deal with small-time trash.”
“Unless that trash is being used by someone bigger.”
The sound of something scraping against the door made us both freeze.
It sounded like metal on wood,
a slow,
deliberate scratching.
“Elena...”
the voice whispered again,
drifting through the cracks in the frame.
“He’s going to kill you both.”
“Just give him the baby,”
“and he’ll let you go.”
I looked at Lorenzo,
and for the first time,
I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Not doubt of his own strength,
but doubt of who he could trust in his own home.
“The voice,”
I said,
“that’s Sofia.”
“Your sister-in-law.”
Lorenzo’s breath hitched in his throat.
“Sofia is in Italy,”
he said,
though he sounded unsure.
“She arrived yesterday,”
I countered.
“I saw her in the kitchen.”
“She was talking to the nurse.”
Lorenzo turned toward the door,
his face a mask of stone.
“If my brother’s wife is involved in this,”
“I will burn this house to the ground with her inside it.”
A sudden boom echoed from below,
vibrating through the floorboards.
It was the sound of a heavy door being breached,
or an explosion.
The mansion was under attack.
“They’re here,”
I whispered,
clutching the baby’s blanket.
Lorenzo grabbed a heavy chair and jammed it under the door handle.
“They won’t get in here,”
he said,
his voice filled with a grim resolve.
“Not while I’m still breathing.”
He looked at me,
his eyes intense and searching.
“Can you shoot?”
he asked.
I shook my head,
my hands trembling.
“No.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a smaller,
concealed pistol.
He handed it to me,
the metal feeling heavy and cold.
“Learn fast,”
he said.
May you like
“Because if they get past me,”
“you’re the last line of defense for my son.”
