Chapter 7 - The Viper in the Nest
Moving into Dante’s master suite on the top floor of the main house felt like entering a fortress within a fortress.
The room was vast, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, a king-sized bed draped in dark silk sheets, a stone fireplace, and a private balcony reinforced with bulletproof glass.
For three days, the estate was on high alert. Dante’s security detail was doubled, armed guards patrolled the perimeter with Belgian Malinois attack dogs, and Marco monitored all incoming communications from the harbor.
It was on the fourth afternoon that the trap was sprung—not from the outside gates, but from within the estate walls.
Marcus was in the guest house packing up his remaining textbooks when Titan suddenly stood up from his spot near the fireplace in Dante’s suite.
Titan’s ears pinned back flat against his head. His dark eyes locked onto the solid oak bedroom door. He didn't growl. He let out a single, sharp huff of air—the exact visual sign he used when he sensed an unscheduled presence on his deaf side.
I stood up from the desk where I was reading a veterinary journal. "Titan? What is it?"
I walked to the door, placing my ear against the wood.
Outside in the hallway, I heard hushed, urgent voices.
"...make sure the cameras on the west corridor are looped," a voice murmured. "Dominic’s team is coming through the sea gate in ten minutes. Just get the girl out of the room."
My blood ran cold.
I recognized that voice. It wasn't an intruder.
It was Marco. Dante’s chief underboss.
Marco was the traitor. He was opening the estate’s sea gate for Dominic Moretti’s hit squad.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Dante was down in the basement security bunker with four of his men, reviewing camera footage. He had no idea the west corridor cameras were being looped.
I looked at Titan. The dog was standing at full attention, his chest broad, his jaw set, waiting for my signal.
I didn't have time to run to the basement. If Dominic’s men came through the sea gate in ten minutes, they would catch Dante trapped in the bunker.
I had to act now.
I ran to Dante’s nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and grabbed his spare firearm—a heavy black Beretta. I knew how to use it; my father had been an avid hunter, and he had taught me basic firearms safety when I was a teenager.
I racked the slide, chambering a round, and turned to Titan.
I made three rapid hand signals: Heel. Silent. Strike on command.
Titan’s dark eyes locked onto my hands. He gave a single, slow nod of his massive head.
I opened the bedroom door without making a sound.
Marco was standing at the end of the long mahogany hallway, holding a encrypted satellite radio to his ear, his back turned to us.
"The sea gate lock is disengaged," Marco was whispering into the radio. "Caruso is in the bunker. Bring six men. Kill Caruso first, then bring the girl to Dominic—"
"Drop the radio, Marco," I said, my voice echoing cold and clear through the corridor.
Marco spun around, his jaw dropping in shock as he saw me standing thirty feet away, aiming a heavy Beretta straight at his chest, with a ninety-pound pit bull poised beside my left thigh like a loaded spring.
"Rosalie..." Marco stuttered, his face turning pale. "What are you doing out of the room?"
"I said drop the radio," I repeated, stepping forward, my hand steady on the grip. "You sold out Dante to Dominic Moretti."
Marco’s shock quickly transformed into a cold, ugly sneer. "You stupid little vet tech. You think holding a gun makes you tough? You don't know how this world works. Dante is finished. Dominic promised me control of the harbor terminals once Dante is dead."
Marco’s right hand moved toward his jacket lining.
"Titan! ATTACK!" I shouted, making a sharp forward thrust with my left palm.
Titan exploded forward like a cannonball.
He cleared the thirty feet of hallway in two seconds flat. Before Marco could even draw his weapon, Titan’s ninety pounds of solid muscle slammed directly into Marco’s chest, throwing him backward onto the hardwood floor with a sickening crash.
Marco screamed as Titan’s jaws clamped around his right forearm—the arm holding his weapon—pinning him to the floor with terrifying, effortless force.
"Call him off! CALL HIM OFF!" Marco shrieked, his gun clattering across the floorboards.
I walked up, kicked Marco’s gun far down the hallway, and aimed my Beretta directly between Marco’s eyes.
"Titan, HOLD," I commanded, raising a flat palm.
Titan immediately stopped biting, but kept his massive front paws planted firmly on Marco’s shoulders, his open jaw resting an inch from Marco’s throat, letting out a low, terrifying growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
"You're going to use that radio," I told Marco, my voice devoid of mercy. "And you're going to tell Dominic’s hit squad that the sea gate is clear."
"Why the hell would I do that?" Marco spat, blood dripping from his arm.
I cocked the hammer of the Beretta. "Because if you don't, I'm going to let Titan finish his dinner. And then I'm going to shoot you myself."
Marco stared into my cold blue eyes, realizing in that terrifying moment that the quiet housekeeper was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
"Okay! OKAY!" Marco sobbed.
He grabbed the radio with his left hand, pressed the button, and spoke through his teeth. "Sea gate is clear. Come in."
I pulled out my phone with my left hand and dialed Dante’s direct bunker line.
"Dante," I said as soon as he picked up. "Marco is a traitor. He opened the sea gate. Dominic’s hit squad is entering the lower boat house right now."
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"Rosalie?!" Dante’s voice roared through the speaker, laced with absolute panic. "Where are you?!"
"I’m in the west hallway," I said calmly. "I have Marco pinned under Titan, and I’m holding his gun. Bring the crew to the boat house. We’re going to end this tonight."
