Chapter 12 - The Ghost in the Machine
Nora didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for people who hadn't survived Richard Hayes. She stood up, walked around the desk, and pulled Leo into a fierce, grounding embrace, pressing her hand against the back of his dark, messy hair.
"You did the right thing by bringing this straight to me," Nora said firmly, pulling back to look him dead in the eye. "Not a word of this to your brothers and sisters. And absolutely nothing to your father tonight—he has enough weight on his shoulders with the New York summit tomorrow. We handle this ourselves."
Leo wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing back his tears, the fierce Costa pride finally replacing his fear. "What do we do?"
"We set a trap," Nora replied, a dangerous, cold smile touching the corners of her lips.
That evening, the estate settled into its usual deceptive calm. Arthur was locked in his third-floor office with his top capos, finalizing logistics for the upcoming port acquisitions. Down in the west wing, Nora tucked Chloe and Dante into bed, making sure their security monitors were synced directly to her tablet.
At midnight, Nora stood by the back courtyard window, wearing a dark wool overcoat and leather gloves, a suppressed pistol strapped securely to her thigh. Beside her stood Leo, gripping a heavy iron fireplace poker with a grim, determined expression.
Through the falling snow, a shadow detached itself from the dense pine trees near the perimeter fence. The side pedestrian gate—the one Leo was supposed to have left unlocked—swung open with a silent, oiled click.
A single figure slipped through, moving with the terrifying, feline grace of a trained killer. He wore a heavy tactical turtleneck and carried a silenced weapon. He crept toward the service entrance, bypassing the primary security sensors with insider knowledge that only a blood relative could possess.
As the figure stepped into the dimly lit mudroom, Nora stepped out from the shadows behind him.
"Looking for the master bedroom?" Nora’s voice cut through the silence like a razor blade.
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The intruder spun around instantly, raising his weapon, but Leo swung the heavy iron poker with all his twelve-year-old fury, smashing it directly into the man’s wrist. The gun clattered loudly against the tile floor.
Before the intruder could recover, Nora closed the distance, sweeping his legs out from under him and pinning him to the marble floor with the heavy heel of her boot planted squarely against his windpipe.
