Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the MirrorThe attack came at midnight.
I was sitting by Oliver’s bedside, watching him sleep peacefully, listening to the rhythmic hum of his breathing machine. The luxury of the estate couldn't mask the underlying tension that hummed through the walls like a live wire. Outside, the rain lashed against the reinforced glass windows of the Chicago safehouse.
Suddenly, the lights flickered and died.
The backup generator kicked in three seconds later, bathing the hallways in an eerie, dim amber emergency glow. But it wasn't the darkness that made my blood run cold—it was the sound of silenced gunfire echoing from the west wing.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Before I could reach the door, it swung open. Gabriel stood there, blood soaking through the shoulder of his black tactical vest, a smoking pistol in his hand.
"Get under the bed. Now," Gabriel ordered, his voice devoid of its usual calm.
"What's happening?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I pulled Oliver toward the floor, shielding his small body with mine.
"The Outfit's board members thought Sebastian was weak," Gabriel muttered, checking the magazine of his weapon. "They sent a cleaner squad to test the king. They want to see if the man in the wheelchair can still protect his throne."
Before Gabriel could bolt back into the hallway, heavy boots echoed outside our door. Two masked intruders kicked our door open, automatic weapons raised.
Instinct took over. I didn't think; I grabbed a heavy glass water pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it with all my might. It shattered against the first man's helmet, buying Gabriel a fraction of a second. Gabriel fired twice, dropping both intruders in a heartbeat.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me up. "We have to move. Sebastian wants you in his panic room."
"I'm not leaving without Oliver's medicine!" I cried, grabbing the duffel bag packed with his specialized vials and nebulizer.
When we reached Sebastian's master suite, the heavy steel panic room door was already open. Inside, sitting upright in his custom titanium chair with a tactical shotgun resting across his lap, was Sebastian Lombardi.
He didn't look like a patient anymore. He looked like an executioner.
"Are you unharmed?" Sebastian demanded, his eyes scanning over me and Oliver with a fierce, possessive intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"We're fine," I breathed, pulling Oliver close to my chest. "Your men... are they—?"
"My men are dealing with traitors," Sebastian interrupted coldly, pumping the shotgun with a terrifying, mechanical precision. He looked down at his own legs, then back up at me. "They thought I was trapped in this chair forever. They thought a cripple couldn't pull a trigger. Tonight, I'm going to remind them why they all used to sleep with the lights on."
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Sebastian wheeled himself out of the panic room into the dim hallway, leaving a trail of absolute terror in his wake. And as I watched him roll into the shadows to slaughter his enemies, I realized a terrifying truth:
By healing his body, I had just unleashed a monster the world thought it had finally buried.
