Chapter 3 - Blood on the Marble
Leo shoved Tessa behind his broad frame, his right hand instantly dropping beneath his left armpit to draw a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed.
“Stay on the staircase,” he ordered, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute, chilling authority that brook no argument.
The heavy oak doors groaned, the reinforced deadbolt splintering as a kick from the outside blew the entryway open. Three masked men rushed into the foyer, automatic weapons raised, their tactical gear dripping with rain and fresh blood. They were not local thugs; they were professional hitmen belonging to the Moretti family—the Santoros’ fiercest rivals in the city’s underground drug and dock wars.
“Santoro!” the lead gunman roared, swinging his rifle muzzle toward the foyer.
Leo didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid, devastating motion, he raised his pistol and fired twice. The deafening cracks of gunfire echoed off the marble walls like rolling thunder. The lead gunman dropped instantly, a neat red hole appearing dead center in his tactical vest.
Chaos erupted in the foyer. The second and third assassins opened blind, wild fire, sending heavy slugs splintering into the mahogany furniture and shattering the expensive crystal chandelier overhead. Shards of crystal rained down like lethal confetti. Tessa screamed, ducking low against the marble stairs, covering her head with her hands as plaster and wood dust filled the air.
Leo vaulted over the low entry table, using the heavy leather armchair as cover. He fired twice more, dropping the second assailant with a precise shot to the shoulder that spun the man around before he collapsed. The final gunman, realizing they had walked into a slaughterhouse, panicked and tried to turn back toward the shattered doorway.
Leo lunged forward, closing the distance with terrifying athletic speed, and slammed the heavy butt of his pistol against the man’s temple. The assassin crumpled unconscious onto the blood-spattered marble floor.
Within thirty seconds, the deafening gunfight was over.
Silence rushed back into the foyer, thick, suffocating, and reeking of cordite, gunpowder, and fresh iron.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the rear corridors as half a dozen armed Santoro enforcers, drawn by the gunshots, flooded into the main hallway carrying submachine guns. They took in the carnage instantly—the three Moretti hitmen bleeding out on the Italian tile, the shattered glass, and Leo standing in the center of the devastation, his white shirt stained with a splatter of dark blood that wasn't his own.
“Boss!” Salvatore, Leo’s most trusted captain, shouted, lowering his weapon. “Are you hit?”
“I’m fine,” Leo snapped coldly, his chest heaving as adrenaline surged through his veins. He didn't look at his men; his dark eyes immediately snapped back to the marble staircase.
Tessa was still huddled against the steps, her burgundy silk dress smudged with dust, her face pale as a sheet, staring in absolute horror at the bodies lying just feet away. The reality of the world she lived in—the dark, violent underworld she had spent a year pretending didn't exist—had just crashed into her life with lethal force.
Leo crossed the room in three long strides, ignoring his captains, and dropped to one knee in front of her. His hands hovered over her shoulders before gently gripping her arms, checking her over for injuries with frantic urgency.
“Tessa. Look at me,” he commanded, his voice uncharacteristically desperate. “Are you hurt? Did any glass touch you?”
Tessa slowly raised her eyes to meet his. The arrogant, jealous mob boss from ten minutes ago was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he had stared into the abyss and nearly lost everything that mattered.
“They... they were going to kill you,” Tessa whispered, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
“They came for my head, and they found it,” Leo said grimly, his thumb gently wiping a speck of dust from her cheek, leaving a smear of dark gunpowder. He looked down at the stunning burgundy dress, now ruined at the hem by dust and stray drops of blood. “This is why I told you to take the dress off, Tessa. This house is a battlefield. You don't belong on the outside. You belong where I can keep you safe.”
Tessa flinched away from his touch, a sudden wave of bitter realization washing over her shock. “Safe? You call this safe, Leo? You live like a caged animal, and you expect me to sit in your pocket like a decorative pet!”
Before Leo could answer, Tessa’s phone buzzed aggressively inside her small leather clutch resting on the step. She reached down with shaking fingers and pulled it out.
The screen flashed with a text message from Greg: Where are you? I’ve been waiting at the restaurant for twenty minutes. Are you okay?
Tessa stared at the screen, a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on her chest. She looked up at Leo, whose jaw was clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, his dark eyes watching her phone with renewed territorial fury.
“I’m going,” Tessa whispered, pushing past him to stand up on wobbly legs.
Leo rose to his full height, blocking her path once again, his voice dropping into a dark, unyielding command. “You are not leaving this estate tonight, Tessa. The Moretti family knows you were here. If you step foot outside these gates, you’re a walking target.”
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“Then I’ll take my chances with a target on my back!” Tessa yelled, tears of adrenaline and frustration finally spilling over her lashes. “Because at least Greg doesn't hold me hostage in a gilded cage!”
She pushed past him, her heels clicking rapidly against the blood-stained marble, and fled out the shattered front doors into the pouring rain.
