Chapter 11 - The Shadow Over The NurserySix months of absolute, uninterrupted peace had lulled me into a false sense of security. The Sterling-Elena Foundation was thriving, our baby boy—named Alexander Junior, or AJ for short—was growing into a happy, giggling infant, and Alexander proved every single day that his fierce protectiveness was not just a passing reaction to that fateful night at the gala.
It was a crisp autumn afternoon. The golden light filtered through the bulletproof, floor-to-ceiling glass windows of our penthouse nursery. I was sitting in a plush rocking chair, humming a soft lullaby while nursing AJ to sleep, when a strange, low-frequency hum vibrated through the floorboards.
I paused, listening. It wasn't the usual sound of the city traffic or the private elevator chiming. It was a rhythmic, mechanical thrumming—like the rotor blades of a heavy-duty helicopter hovering right outside our airspace.
My heart gave a sudden, nervous flutter.
I stood up slowly, cradling the sleeping baby tightly against my chest, and walked over to the smart-glass window. I tapped the control panel to clear the tint, and my breath caught in my throat.
Hovering less than fifty yards from our fifty-second-floor balcony was a matte-black chopper bearing no registration numbers. Its tinted side door slid open, and a man leaning out threw a heavy grappling hook directly onto our private terrace railing.
Clang.
Before I could even reach for the emergency panic button embedded in the nursery wall, the heavy reinforced balcony door shattered inward with a deafening crash. Shards of glass rained across the expensive hardwood floor.
Through the smoke and dust, three figures clad in tactical gear stepped into the room. But it was the man who walked in last that made my blood run instantly cold.
It wasn't Marcus. It wasn't Sarah.
It was Viktor Vance—a man Alexander had warned me about in whispered, grim tones during our late-night conversations. Viktor was an international arms dealer and a ruthless Russian syndicate boss whom Alexander had legally and financially crippled during his years in exile abroad.
Viktor smiled, his face scarred by an old jagged knife wound, revealing a row of unnaturally white teeth.
“Well, well, well,” Viktor purred, his thick Russian accent dripping with malice as he stepped over the shattered glass. “Alexander Sterling thinks he can lock himself away in a glass castle and play family man. He forgot that every empire has a backdoor.”
I backed away slowly, my arms tightening around a waking, startled AJ, who let out a sharp, frightened cry.
“Stay away from us,” I warned, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound brave. I reached behind my back, desperately trying to feel for the panic button on the wall.
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Viktor noticed the movement. He chuckled, a dark, gravelly sound, and pulled a heavy, silencer-fitted pistol from his tactical holster.
“Don't even think about it, little bird,” Viktor sneered, raising the barrel directly toward my chest. “Alexander took everything from me. Now, I’m going to take the only thing he actually cares about. Hand me the baby.”
