Chapter 8 - Blood and LullabiesThe wood of the door groaned as the crowbar pried deeper into the frame, splintering the mahogany.
Daniel didn't hesitate. He stepped in front of me and the baby, raising his automatic pistol toward the door with ice-cold precision, his stance wide and lethal.
"Stay behind me," Daniel commanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "If the door gives, drop to the floor and cover Leo with your body. Do not look up."
"Daniel, wait—" I started, but the rest of my words were swallowed by a deafening crash.
The lock shattered. The heavy door flew inward, splintering off its hinges.
A masked figure lunged through the opening, rifle raised.
Bang.
Daniel fired first. The suppressed shot was a dull, heavy thud in the confined space. The intruder dropped instantly, collapsing hard onto the carpet.
Before the first body even hit the floor, a second gunman appeared behind him, swinging his weapon toward Daniel.
"Daniel!" I screamed, instinctively shielding Leo with my entire upper body.
Daniel pivoted with terrifying speed, firing twice more. The second intruder staggered backward out into the hallway, disappearing into the shadows with a muffled cry.
Silence slammed back into the room, thick with the sharp, metallic stench of cordite and fresh blood.
Daniel stood breathlessly in the broken doorway, his pistol still raised, scanning the dark corridor for any sign of movement. When nothing stirred, he slowly lowered his weapon, letting out a ragged breath. He turned around to check on us.
I was shaking from head to toe, tears streaming down my face. In my arms, little Leo was still screaming, his tiny face flushed purple, his nervous system completely overwhelmed by the gunfire, the adrenaline, and the smell of blood. The monitors were flashing a frantic crimson warning.
"He's not stopping," I sobbed, rocking desperately, feeling the baby slip further into distress. "Daniel, he's going into shock. The sensory overload is too high. If I can't calm him down right now, his heart is going to give out."
Daniel dropped his gun onto the floor. It clattered loudly against the wood, but neither of us cared.
He crossed the room in two long strides and dropped to his knees right in front of my rocking chair.
"What do I do?" Daniel asked, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate vulnerability that completely shattered the facade of the ruthless mob boss. "Tell me what to do. I'll do anything."
"Take off your jacket," I gasped. "Get rid of the blood. Strip off your shirt."
Daniel didn't hesitate for a single second. He ripped off his blood-stained dress shirt, tearing the buttons in his haste, tossing it aside until he was bare-chested, just like me.
"Hold him," I said, carefully transferring the screaming, hyperventilating infant from my arms into Daniel’s wide, powerful chest.
For a second, the baby thrashed wildly against Daniel’s skin, screaming louder. Marco appeared in the ruined doorway, rifle in hand, staring in shock at his boss sitting shirtless on the nursery floor holding a screaming baby.
"Clear the perimeter, Marco!" Daniel roared without looking back. "Nobody comes up here! Nobody!"
"Yes, Boss!" Marco vanished instantly.
"Now, put your hand on the back of his head," I instructed frantically, guiding Daniel’s large, scarred hand to the base of Leo’s skull. "Press him firmly against your heart. Breathe with me, Daniel. Slow. Deep. Match my breathing."
Daniel closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he forced his frantic adrenaline-fueled breathing to slow down. He began to hum—a deep, low, rumbling vibration that echoed right through his chest cavity.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
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Slowly, almost magically, the violent screaming began to subside into ragged whimpers. Leo’s tiny fists, which had been clenched so tight his knuckles were white, began to loosen. His frantic breathing slowed, syncing up with the steady, powerful thud of his father’s heart.
And within a minute, the mafia boss's son fell fast asleep against his father's bare chest.
