Chapter 5 - The Mother's Instinct
The service staircase was narrow, dark, and winding, but I knew my feet could move faster than Julian’s encumbered stride. I sprinted up the steps two at a time, my lungs burning, my mind racing.
Third floor. The back hallway.
If I could circle around behind the grand staircase, I could reach the upper landing before Julian realized I was gone.
I burst through the third-floor service door, my breathing coming in ragged gasps. The hallway was quiet, lit only by the pale moonlight streaming through the Palladian windows. I crept silently along the Persian runner, moving toward the open archway that overlooked the grand foyer below.
Down below, the scene was frozen in a terrifying tableau.
Dante stood at the foot of the stairs, his hands raised, his eyes locked on his son with an expression of pure, unadulterated agony. Rocco stood frozen near the study door, his weapon holstered under strict command.
And right there, standing on the third step from the top, was Julian. He was half-dragging a sobbing Matteo, his gun still pressed firmly against the toddler's temple.
"Make your choice, Dante!" Julian shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Kneel and put a bullet in your own shoulder, or I pull the trigger right now!"
"Don't do it, Dante!" I yelled from the shadows of the upper landing.
Julian whipped his head around, his eyes widening in shock as he spotted me standing just twenty feet away at the top of the stairs. "You—!"
He started to pivot, swinging the gun away from Matteo toward me.
It was the opening I needed.
I didn't hesitate. I threw myself down the final stretch of the hallway, launching my body forward in a flying tackle straight off the top landing.
Crash.
My momentum caught Julian squarely in the side just as he pulled the trigger. The gun roared, sending a wild bullet crashing harmlessly into the plaster ceiling, showering us in white dust.
The impact knocked Julian off balance. His foot slipped on the polished marble edge of the top step, and with a wild, panicked shriek, he tumbled backward down the grand staircase, his body bouncing violently off the ornate banister before crashing in a heap at the bottom of the steps.
He didn't move. His pistol skidded across the floor, coming to a stop near Dante's polished shoes.
Silence descended on the foyer, heavier and more profound than before.
Up on the landing, I lay sprawled against the marble floor, gasping for air, every muscle in my body aching as if I’d been hit by a truck.
A pair of small, chubby arms suddenly wrapped tightly around my neck.
"Mama!"
I opened my eyes. Matteo had scrambled away from Julian's fall and was now burying his face in my neck, sobbing softly, his little heart beating a million miles an hour.
Slowly, I sat up, gathering the boy into my arms and pulling him tight against my chest.
Footsteps rushed up the stairs. In a second, Dante was kneeling beside us. His hands trembled as he touched Matteo's face, then mine, checking us both for injuries with frantic, desperate thoroughness.
"Are you okay? Is he hurt?" Dante's voice was thick with unspooled emotion, tears shimmering in the corners of his stormy gray eyes—the first time I had ever seen him break.
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"We're okay," I breathed, my own tears finally breaking free, hot and fast down my cheeks. "We're okay, Dante."
Dante pulled both of us into his arms, burying his face in my hair. For the first time since I had stepped foot into The Velvet Lounge, the walls of the fortress didn't feel like a prison. They felt like home.
