Chapter 3 - THE SECOND SHADOWThe gun in Dr. Aris Vance’s hand wavered for a fraction of a second as he whipped his head toward the stairs.
Standing in the doorway was Mateo Rossi—Sophia’s estranged husband and the estate’s former head of security, whom Lorenzo had fired six months prior for suspected skimming. Or so everyone had been led to believe.
“Mateo?” Sophia gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—!”
“Out of the picture? In prison? Dead in a ditch?” Mateo finished for her, his eyes hard as flint as he stepped down the stairs, keeping a heavy-caliber Glock leveled squarely at Dr. Vance’s head. “Sophia, get Emma out of here. Now.”
“Not so fast, Rossi,” Dr. Vance sneered, though the sweat beading on his forehead betrayed his sudden panic. He flicked the barrel of his gun away from Lorenzo and pressed it firmly against Sophia’s temple. “One step closer, Mateo, and I blow your wife’s brains across these historic stone walls. Let’s see how fast your righteous heroism works then.”
Mateo froze. The muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly a vein throbbed violently against his skin. He looked at Sophia, a silent, agonizing communication passing between them—years of resentment, betrayal, and buried love dissolving into pure, desperate survival instinct.
“You’re playing a losing hand, Aris,” Lorenzo’s muffled voice boomed through the tape, a low, menacing rumble that still commanded absolute terror. Even bound and bleeding, the mafia boss radiated an aura of lethal authority. “Vincent thinks he’s clever. He thinks hiring a corrupt doctor and a backstabbing accountant buys him the Duca family crown. But Vincent forgot one fundamental rule of the underworld.”
Dr. Vance’s eyes darted nervously toward Lorenzo. “Shut up, you old bastard!”
“Never trust a man who leaves his fingerprints at the crime scene,” Lorenzo finished, a dark, blood-stained smile visible in the corners of his bruised eyes.
Before Dr. Vance could process the warning, little Emma—still clutched tightly in Sophia’s arms—suddenly reached out with her small hand and yanked hard on a silver chain dangling from the doctor’s open vest pocket.
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A heavy object slipped free, clattering noisily against the stone stairs.
It was a custom-engraved gold signet ring—bearing the unmistakable family crest of Vincent Romano.
