Chapter 7 - The Reckoning
When the elevator doors slid open on the third floor, the scene that greeted Hunter was a nightmare painted in crimson.
The grand hallway outside the nursery was destroyed. The mahogany panels were riddled with bullet holes, the crystal chandeliers shattered across the carpet, and the bodies of four tactical shooters lay motionless on the floor.
Standing in the center of the carnage was Lorenzo Rossi.
He was covered in blood—none of it his own. His shirt was torn, his knuckles split to the bone, and he held a heavy assault rifle in his hands, his eyes wild and unhinged like those of a demon straight from hell. Marco stood behind him, reloading a tactical shotgun with methodical precision.
When the elevator doors chimed, Lorenzo spun around, raising his rifle.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Hunter stepped out of the elevator. Her uniform was torn at the collar, her hair wild, her face splattered with Mateo Moretti’s blood. In her left arm, she cradled Leo. In her right hand, she held Mateo’s silver revolver.
Lorenzo dropped his rifle to the floor. It clattered against the marble.
In three massive strides, he crossed the hallway and reached them. His hands, usually so steady and lethal, trembled as he reached out.
"Hunter," Lorenzo rasped, his voice raw. He looked at his son, then at Hunter's blood-stained face. "Are you... is he...?"
"He's fine," Hunter whispered, her knees finally giving out as the adrenaline drained from her system.
Lorenzo caught her before she hit the floor. His massive arms wrapped around both Hunter and the baby, pulling them tightly against his chest. He sank down onto his knees in the middle of the ruined hallway, holding them as if they were the only two real things left in the universe.
"I have the gun," Hunter choked out, pressing the revolver into Lorenzo’s hand. "Mateo... Mateo Moretti is down in the bunker. He’s hurt. He tried to take Leo."
Lorenzo’s entire body went rigid. The warmth in his eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a dark, terrifying vortex of absolute malice.
Mateo Moretti was inside his home. The man who had murdered his wife had laid his hands on his son.
Lorenzo looked down at Hunter. He gently lifted her chin with two fingers, looking deep into her hazel eyes.
"You protected my son," Lorenzo whispered, his tone filled with an awe so profound it bordered on reverence. "You fought for him."
"He's my baby too," Hunter blurted out, before she could filter the words. She froze, realizing what she had said.
Lorenzo didn't get angry. He didn't correct her. Instead, a strange, beautiful look passed over his harsh features—a mix of deep pain and profound understanding.
"Marco," Lorenzo said softly, without taking his eyes off Hunter.
"Boss," Marco replied, stepping forward.
"Take Hunter and Leo to the safe house in Greenwich. Escort them with twelve men. Nobody touches them. Nobody speaks to them."
"And you, Boss?" Marco asked, racking the slide of his shotgun.
May you like
Lorenzo slowly stood up, gripping Mateo’s silver revolver in his right hand. He looked down toward the blast doors leading to the subterranean bunker.
"I am going to finish a conversation that started eight months ago," Lorenzo said softly.
