Chapter 11 - The Uninvited Guest
By dawn, the estate was secure.
Special cleanup crews had swept the grounds, washing the blood from the stone terraces and hauling away the wreckage. The autumn sun broke over Westchester, casting a breathtaking golden light across the frosted lawns.
In the sunlit conservatory, Liam, Noah, and Caleb were devouring towers of blueberry pancakes that Mrs. Higgins had prepared, laughing and chattering about their “secret agent adventure.”
Gabriel stood beside my chair, his hand resting tenderly on my shoulder. His wounds had been stitched by his private physician, and he had changed into a clean, dark cashmere sweater.
“It’s over, Claire,” he whispered into my hair, his thumb tracing the curve of my neck. “Vincente’s compound was seized twenty minutes ago by the Feds using evidence Marco leaked. The remaining loyalists have surrendered. Our family is safe.”
I looked up at him, my heart full of an emotion that had never truly died, only buried beneath years of sorrow.
“We have five years of lost time to make up for, Gabriel,” I said softly.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes swimming with devotion. “We have the rest of our lives, my love. I’m never letting you walk away again.”
The boys cheered as Gabriel leaned down and kissed me in full view of the morning sun. It felt like the beginning of our real life.
Suddenly, the power flickered once.
The cheerful music playing from the vintage radio in the kitchen cut out into static.
Then, the high-security intercom system throughout the house—a completely isolated, offline circuit—let out a sharp, piercing whine.
Marco burst into the conservatory, his face pale as a ghost, his hand hovering over his sidearm.
“Boss... someone just hacked the estate’s analog broadcast line from outside the gate.”
A voice crackled through the ceiling speakers. It was not Vincente Rossi. It was not Serena.
It was a woman’s voice—deep, aristocratic, and dripping with venomous amusement.
*“How touching. The little mafia Don playing house with his runaway bride and his three secret bastards.”*
Gabriel froze. Every muscle in his body turned to stone. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him paler than I had ever seen him.
“No,” Gabriel breathed, his voice hollow with sheer terror. “It’s impossible. She died ten years ago.”
The voice over the intercom purred with icy laughter:
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*“You should have checked the coffin, Gabriel. You think you survived the Rossi family? You haven't even met the real master of the Romano bloodline. Look out the east window, darling.”*
Before Gabriel could scream for us to hit the floor, a deafening blast rocked the eastern wing of the estate, blowing out the stained-glass windows in a shower of deadly shards as the manor plunged into darkness.
