Chapter 4 - The Sound in the Dark
The crash was followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a muffled scuffle and a high-pitched, terrified gasp.
Sophia!
My maternal instinct tore through my shock and confusion like a lightning bolt. I didn't wait for Dante. I spun around, threw open the heavy study door, and sprinted down the corridor toward the kitchen wing.
“Sophia!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the quiet mansion.
Dante was right behind me, his heavy footsteps thundering against the marble floor like falling iron. In a matter of seconds, his physical aura shifted instantly from a grieving widower back into the ruthless Mafia boss who controlled the Chicago underworld. His hand dropped to his side, sliding a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol from a concealed shoulder holster with terrifying ease.
When we burst through the double doors leading into the service pantry, the scene froze us in our tracks.
Mrs. Gable was slumped against the counter, unconscious, a nasty bruise swelling along her temple. The back service door, which led out to the private staff parking area behind the estate, stood wide open, letting in a bitter gust of autumn wind.
And standing in the center of the room, holding a squirming, crying Sophia under one arm, was a man in a black tactical jacket.
My blood ran instantly cold.
“Don’t move, Falcone!” the intruder snarled, his voice tight with adrenaline. He kept a small, silenced pistol pressed against the side of Sophia’s tiny head. “Drop the piece! Right now, or the kid gets it!”
Dante didn’t drop his weapon. Instead, he raised it with chilling, absolute calm. The barrel of his gun aligned precisely with the center of the intruder’s forehead.
“You’ve got about three seconds to put her down,” Dante’s voice was barely a murmur, but it carried the lethal weight of an executioner. “And another three seconds to decide how painful your death is going to be.”
“Don’t try it!” the man yelled, his fingers tightening around Sophia’s arm. Sophia let out a piercing shriek, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “I know about the ledger! I know why you brought this woman and her brat into the house! You think you can dig up the past and bury us? Boss says the Falcone name dies tonight!”
My breath caught. The ledger.
The man didn't work for a rival family trying to muscle in on shipping routes. He was looking for the exact same document Dante had just asked me about—the secrets my grandmother supposedly carried out of this mansion twenty-five years ago.
“Who sent you?” Dante demanded, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. The distance between them closed by half a yard.
“Go to hell—!” the intruder started to shout.
Before he could finish the sentence, Sophia—red-faced, furious, and terrified—did something astonishing. She twisted her small body with surprising strength, wound back her arm, and slammed her hard little plastic toy cup right into the intruder’s nose with a sharp crack.
The man yelped in pain, his grip loosening for a split second as he instinctively reached up to grab his bleeding nose.
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That single, fraction-of-a-second opening was all Dante Falcone needed.
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