Chapter 7 - The Shadow on the Wall
The truth didn't set me free; it made the walls of the Rossi estate feel ten feet higher and twice as cold.
For three days, I refused to speak to Dominic. I ate my meals alone in the master bedroom, staring out the window at the endless rain soaking the lawn. My body was healing, but my heart felt torn to shreds. Every memory I had of my childhood—my father’s laughter, my mother’s gentle smile, our quiet life in Cleveland—was built on a foundation of stolen mob money and bloody vengeance.
On Thursday night, the rain stopped, replaced by a thick, heavy fog that rolled in from the Long Island Sound, swallowing the estate in a sea of gray shadows.
I couldn't sleep. The pain near my spine was throbbing rhythmically, a stark reminder of the metal slugs still lodged inside my tissue.
I wrapped a thick silk robe around my nightgown and stepped out onto the private balcony to breathe the cold night air.
The gardens below were silent. The floodlights mounted along the stone perimeter wall cast long, eerie beams through the mist.
Suddenly, a faint click echoed from the shadow of the tall oak trees near the eastern wall.
I froze, leaning over the stone railing, my eyes straining against the darkness.
A flash of red light—a laser scope—flickered across the wet grass, moving rapidly toward the ground-floor terrace beneath my balcony.
Inside the perimeter.
Before I could scream, a heavy black-gloved hand clamped firmly over my mouth from behind, pulling me backward into the dark bedroom.
I thrashed wildly, my elbow striking my captor’s chest, pulling against my painful abdominal stitches.
"Shh! Clara! It’s me!" Dominic’s voice hissed in my ear.
He released my mouth, pulling me behind his massive frame as he drew a dark, silenced pistol from his waistband. He was wearing black tactical gear, his eyes cold and hyper-focused.
"They cut the perimeter wire near the orchard," Dominic whispered, pressing his back against the bedroom wall near the balcony door. "Costa’s strike team is on the grounds."
"How?" I gasped, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. "You said this place was a fortress!"
"Someone opened the eastern gate from the inside," Dominic growled, his jaw tightening into a terrifying mask of rage. "We have a rat in the house."
A muffled thud-thud-thud of silenced gunfire echoed from the hallway outside my bedroom door.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He grabbed my hand, dragging me toward the hidden door behind the bookshelf in his adjoining study.
"Where are we going?" I sobbed as he shoved the heavy mahogany cabinet aside, revealing a narrow concrete stairwell leading down into the foundations of the estate.
"The safe room beneath the wine cellar," Dominic said, shoving a small silver revolver into my trembling hand. "Keep your finger off the trigger until you see a face you don't like. If anyone opens that door except me or Enzo, you empty the cylinder into their chest."
"Dominic, no!" I cried, grabbing his tactical vest as he tried to push me into the dark stairs. "Don't go back out there!"
He stopped, looking down at me in the dim light of the emergency bulbs. A faint, terrible smile touched his lips—a predator stepping back into his hunting ground.
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"They came into my home, Clara," Dominic whispered, reaching out to cup my cheek, his fingers warm against my freezing skin. "They threatened my wife. Now they die."
He slammed the heavy steel door shut, locking it from the outside, leaving me alone in the dark with a loaded gun and the sound of distant gunfire echoing through the concrete walls.
