Chapter 5 - THE TRAITOR'S MASK
I held my breath, my arms wrapped so tightly around the twins I was afraid I would hurt them. But they didn't make a sound. They were frozen, paralyzed by the same fear that had haunted them since their mother died.
"Check the closet," Viktor ordered.
Through the gap under the bed skirt, I could see his boots. Polished, heavy black combat boots. Beside him was another pair of shoes—not tactical boots.
Dante's shoes.
"They're gone, Dante," Viktor said, his voice dripping with false concern. "She must have had an accomplice. They took them through the window. Look at the rope."
My heart stopped.
They had set up a fake kidnapping scene. Viktor was going to convince Dante that I had stolen his daughters, and then... then what? They would kill Dante in his grief, blame it on the "Rossi retrieval," and take over the Moretti empire.
"No," Dante’s voice was dangerously quiet. "She didn't take them."
"Boss, the window is open—"
"Clara wouldn't leave through the window," Dante said. I could hear the slow, deliberate sound of him drawing his weapon. "And she wouldn't leave them. I saw the way she looked at them. She looked at them the way Isabella used to."
"You're letting your emotions blind you!" Viktor hissed, his tone losing its deferential edge. "She’s a Rossi! She’s a snake!"
"And you," Dante said, his voice dropping to a register that made the hairs on my arms stand up, "have a Swiss bank account that suddenly acquired three million dollars yesterday afternoon. Courtesy of the Valetti family."
A tense, suffocating silence filled the room.
"You knew," Viktor whispered.
"I knew the moment you brought me that locket," Dante said. "You were too eager, Viktor. You've been with me for ten years, and you forgot one thing: I don't trust anyone. Not even my own shadow. Especially not when my daughters' lives are on the line."
"It doesn't matter," Viktor laughed, a dry, grating sound. "You're outnumbered, Dante. My men are already in the basement, finishing off the Rossi girl. And the rest of the house is mine. You're a king without a kingdom."
"We'll see about that," Dante growled.
A gunshot shattered the silence.
The sound in the enclosed room was deafening. The twins flinched, but I clamped my hands over their ears, pulling them deeper into the corner under the bed.
Another shot. Then the sound of heavy bodies crashing into the furniture. A table shattered. A lamp fell, glass spraying across the hardwood floor.
I could hear them fighting—grunting, desperate, a brutal struggle for survival.
"Daddy!" Mia whimpered, the sound escaping before I could stop her.
The struggle stopped instantly.
"Dante!" Viktor shouted, his voice strained, gasping for air. "You hear that? They're still here. In this room."
"Run, Clara!" Dante roared.
Another shot fired, followed by a wet, choking gasp.
"Clara!" Dante’s voice was weaker now, filled with pain. "Take them... run..."
A heavy thud rattled the floorboards right beside the bed.
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A hand reached under the bed skirt.
But it wasn't Dante’s hand. It was Viktor’s, covered in blood, his fingers clawing at the dust as he tried to find us.
