Chapter 3 - The Broken Mask
Dominic’s face turned ghastly pale. The arrogant mask he had worn for decades shattered instantly.
"You lying little brat!" Dominic roared, whipping out a sleek pistol from inside his tailored jacket and aiming it straight at Emma’s head.
BANG!
A deafening shot shattered the silence before Dominic could even touch the trigger. Dominic’s weapon flew from his grasp, blood spraying from his shattered wrist. Alessandro hadn't even blinked—the barrel of his sidearm was already smoking.
"Touch her, and I will tear you apart piece by piece," Alessandro growled, his voice echoing through the hall.
Marco and a squad of loyal guards stormed the room, instantly disarming and tackling Dominic’s men to the ground. Dominic fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding arm with a look of pure hatred.
"You think you’ve won, Alessandro?" Dominic spat, his teeth stained red. "You will never find Isabella! Four months ago, she discovered my secret supply routes through the docks. I was going to put a bullet in her head, but she was pregnant with a Romano heir!"
Alessandro stepped forward, placing his boot squarely over Dominic’s chest and pinning him to the floor. "Where is she?!"
"I hid her somewhere you’ll never find," Dominic wheezed, laughing maniacally. "I forced Elena—a debtor's helpless daughter—to nurse the baby, intending to use the child as leverage against you when the time was right! But Elena grew soft... she tried to steal the baby and run, so I had her poisoned!"
A wave of lethal fury washed over Alessandro. He pressed the cold barrel of his gun directly between Dominic’s eyes.
"Don't kill him, Alessandro!" Dr. Ricci shouted from the doorway. "Elena is awake! She just typed something on the monitor!"
Alessandro froze. He stared down at Dominic with the eyes of a demon, then turned to Marco. "Throw him into the deepest cell in the basement. Break both his hands. If he dies before I find Isabella, I’ll hold every one of you responsible."
Alessandro rushed down the hall toward the medical wing. On the bed, Elena Vance lay pale and exhausted. Her lips moved without sound, but her trembling finger pointed at a digital tablet beside her bed.
On the screen, a short message was typed:
Widow's Island... The Northern Lighthouse... Isabella... she is still alive...
May you like
Alessandro’s heart hammered against his ribs. Widow's Island—an abandoned military outpost twenty nautical miles off the coast of New York.
He turned and saw little Emma standing nervously by the door. Alessandro walked over, knelt in front of her, and gently placed a hand on her head. "Thank you, little one. Your mother will live. And I promise I will bring Lily's mother home."
