Chapter 7 - The Hostage Situation at Saint JudeSerena’s heart stopped.
“The boys?” she demanded, springing out of her chair so fast it knocked over backward.
“Not just the boys,” Luca said grimly, pulling a tablet out of his jacket and slamming it onto the table. “Marcus didn't go to his office after he left the estate this morning. He went to the school. He pulled some strings, bypassed security, and checked the quadruplets out early using a forged guardianship form.”
The screen on the tablet showed live security camera footage from the front courtyard of Saint Jude Academy.
A black van was parked illegally by the gates. Marcus was standing by the open door, gripping Marco by the arm while Nico, Alessandro, and Tommy stood frozen in a tight, defensive huddle around their brother.
“He’s using them,” Serena gasped, horror washing over her in a freezing wave. “He’s holding them hostage to get to me. He thinks if he has the Rinaldi heirs, he can force you to back off the lawsuit.”
Victor didn't yell. He didn't curse.
He went entirely, terrifyingly still. The temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing. When he spoke, his voice was no longer human—it was the voice of a apex predator whose den had just been violated.
“Luca,” Victor said quietly. “Bring the tactical gear. Call the inner circle. We’re checking out early.”
“Victor, wait,” Serena grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “If you roll up to an elementary school with an army of mob enforcers, it’ll be a bloodbath. Let me handle this.”
Victor turned his head slowly, locking his dark eyes onto hers. “Serena, that man is holding my sons.”
“And he’s my ex-husband,” Serena said, her voice burning with a cold, terrifying fire that matched his own. “He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m the terrified woman he walked all over for three years. Let me go down there first. Let me play the victim. When he lowers his guard...”
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Victor studied her face for three agonizing seconds. Then, a slow, terrifyingly proud smirk spread across his lips.
“You really are a Rinaldi in spirit, Miss Valente,” Victor murmured. “Luca, give her the comms earpiece. We’ll be two minutes behind her in unmarked units. If he so much as scratches her, burn the block down.”
Ten minutes later, Serena’s rented sedan screeched to a halt fifty yards away from the black van parked outside Saint Jude Academy.
She killed the engine, took a deep, steadying breath, tapped the tiny comms earpiece in her ear, and stepped out onto the sunlit pavement.
Marcus saw her immediately.
A cruel, victorious smirk spread across his oily face as he shoved Marco roughly against the side of the van. Marco grunted, but didn't cry out—his dark eyes locked onto Serena with a mixture of warning and calculation.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Marcus shouted, holding a thick zip-tie in his hand. “Step any closer, Serena, and I’ll break your precious little boss's favorite toys one by one.”
Serena walked forward slowly, keeping her hands visible, her posture drooping into a posture of practiced, pathetic submission.
“Marcus, please,” she whimpered, letting her voice crack just enough to sell the performance. “Don't hurt them. This is between you and me.”
“Oh, it’s definitely between us,” Marcus sneered, taking a step toward her, his grip loosening slightly on Marco’s shoulder as his ego took the bait. “You thought you could hook up with a billionaire and ruin me? You’re nothing, Serena! You’re a broke nobody!”
He stepped within three feet of her, raising his hand to grab her hair—
And that’s when Serena moved.
Years of dodging domestic violence, surviving on the streets, and watching martial arts tutorials on YouTube late at night while Lucia slept finally paid off.
In a flash of pure, adrenaline-fueled violence, Serena ducked under his swinging arm, drove her heel straight down onto the top of Marcus’s foot with bone-crushing force, and slammed her elbow directly into his solar plexus.
Marcus let out a strangled, agonizing shriek, doubling over instantly as the wind blasted out of his lungs.
Before he could hit the pavement, Marco didn't hesitate. The six-year-old mafia heir executed a textbook sweep kick, knocking Marcus’s other leg out from under him. Marcus crashed hard onto the asphalt, face-first, howling in pain.
Nico and Alessandro immediately swarmed him, kicking his shins with the precision of trained mercenaries, while Tommy calmly walked over, picked up Marcus dropped car keys, and tossed them into a nearby storm drain.
“Assaulting a federal informant and kidnapping Rinaldi heirs,” a cold, smooth voice echoed from behind them.
The sound of twenty heavy-duty vehicle doors slamming shut echoed down the street.
Marcus looked up, blood trickling from his nose, to see a dozen black SUVs surrounding the block. Luca and Victor stepped out of the lead vehicle, flanked by armed enforcers, moving with the terrifying inevitability of an execution squad.
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Victor walked over, looking down at Marcus like he was a cockroach clinging to the bottom of his shoe.
“You picked the wrong family, Mr. Vance,” Victor whispered.
