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The heavy air in the kitchen hung thick with the ghosts of a life Dominic Russo had buried a year and two months ago. Standing in the doorway, his hand slowly slipped away from the Sig Sauer, his knuckles whitening against the checkered grip before he forced his fingers to uncurl. Fourteen months of silence. Fourteen months of walking through a multi-million-dollar tomb on the Long Island Sound where his daughters—his triplets, Lucia, Valentina, and Mia—existed like hollowed-out porcelain dolls. No tears, no tantrums, no laughter. Just breathing shells of children traumatized the night a sniper's bullet took Isabella. / Chapter 3 / 8

Chapter 3 - The Blood on the Table

Dawn broke over the water, painting the sky in violent streaks of crimson and gold. Dominic was already downstairs, nursing a black coffee in the kitchen, when the heavy oak front door clicked open.

Elena walked in, carrying a canvas tote bag, looking exhausted but alert. She froze when she saw Dominic sitting at the marble island, bathed in the early morning light, watching her with predatory stillness.

"Up early, Mr. Russo?" Elena asked smoothly, kicking off her sneakers and stepping onto the heated tile floor.

"I don't sleep," Dominic said softly, setting his ceramic mug down with a sharp clack. "Not when strangers are sleeping twenty feet away from my children."

Elena sighed, dropping her bag onto a stool and crossing her arms. "I am not a stranger, Mr. Russo. I am the woman who got your daughters to smile yesterday after a year of mourning. If you want to interrogate me like I'm a hostile combatant, save your breath. I've dealt with worse attitudes than yours—usually from toddlers, but occasionally from overgrown men who think brooding makes them look majestic."

Dominic stood up slowly, towering over her by a foot. He stepped into her space, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You think you're untouchable because the girls like you? You think a few batches of cookies and nursery rhymes erase the fact that you walked into a fortress with no background check clearance?"

Before Elena could retort, the kitchen door swung open, and little Lucia walked in, rubbing her eyes. She looked up at Dominic, and for the first time in fourteen months, she didn't shrink away. Instead, she walked right past her father’s imposing figure, grabbed the hem of Elena’s sweater, and buried her face in her hip.

Elena looked down, wrapping a protective arm around the little girl. She looked back up at Dominic, her hazel eyes flashing with unyielding steel.

"You can threaten me all you want, Dominic," she said, using his first name for the very first time. "You can check my background, tap my phone, and stand in the shadows like a ghost. But while you're busy playing mobster paranoia, your daughters are finally learning how to live again. Are you going to help them, or are you going to keep standing in the way?"

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Before Dominic could formulate a response, his encrypted burner phone buzzed violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a text from Sal, containing a single encrypted image file and a short note: Found something on Sterling's nanny. It’s not what you think. Look at the signature on her employment contract.

Dominic’s blood ran cold.

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