Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT THEY CAME FOR NINA
At 1:07 a.m., every exterior light on the north side of the Rinaldi estate went dark.
Not flickered.
Not failed.
Dark.
Simultaneously.
Marco Santoro saw it happen from the security room.
“Power cut.”
One of his men checked the monitors.
“Backup cameras should switch.”
They didn’t.
Marco grabbed his radio.
“Massimo.”
Static.
The internal communication network was dead too.
Marco swore.
Dean knew the estate.
Every wire.
Every backup.
Every blind spot.
Massimo had spent years believing security systems protected him from enemies outside.
He had never considered what happened when the architect of those systems became the enemy.
Upstairs, Carla woke to the sound of something tapping against the bedroom window.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
She sat up.
Nina slept beside her.
Carla looked toward the door.
Locked.
Massimo had assigned two guards to the hallway.
She walked quietly toward it.
Before touching the handle, she heard a muffled sound outside.
A shoe dragging.
Then something heavy hit the floor.
Carla froze.
Someone whispered.
“Clear.”
Her blood turned cold.
She backed away.
Nina stirred.
“Mommy?”
Carla immediately placed one finger against her lips.
“Shh.”
Nina sat up.
Carla picked her up.
No shoes.
No coat.
No time.
The bedroom had a connecting door to an old nursery.
Carla tried it.
Locked from the other side.
She looked around desperately.
Bathroom.
Closet.
Under the bed.
None would protect them.
Then she remembered something Nina had said weeks ago while exploring.
There’s a tiny door for ghosts.
Carla had assumed she meant a cabinet.
“Nina.”
Her daughter looked frightened.
“The little ghost door.”
Nina blinked.
“What?”
“You told Mommy about a little door.”
“Behind the dresses.”
Carla ran to the closet.
Pushed clothing aside.
There.
A narrow wooden panel.
Old servant access.
She pulled.
It opened into darkness.
The bedroom handle moved.
Carla climbed inside carrying Nina.
She pulled the panel almost shut.
A second later, the bedroom door broke inward.
Two men entered.
Carla covered Nina’s mouth gently.
Through a thin crack, she saw boots.
One man checked the bed.
“Empty.”
The other cursed.
“She was here.”
“Search.”
They opened cabinets.
Bathroom.
Balcony.
Carla’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure they could hear it.
Nina trembled against her.
Then one man approached the closet.
Carla stopped breathing.
The dresses moved.
A flashlight swept through.
Closer.
Closer.
The beam passed across the panel.
Nina’s stuffed rabbit was still on the bed.
One of the men noticed.
“She can’t be far.”
Then gunfire sounded downstairs.
Both men turned.
“What the hell?”
A voice came through one of their earpieces.
“South entrance compromised.”
“Move.”
They ran.
Carla waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then she crawled deeper into the passage.
Nina whispered against her ear.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
The passage was barely wide enough for an adult.
Dust covered the floor.
Old pipes ran overhead.
Carla moved in darkness using one hand against the wall.
Then Nina whispered:
“Uncle Massimo’s room.”
“What?”
“The ghost road goes there.”
“How do you know?”
“I went before.”
Carla stopped.
“You what?”
Nina wisely remained silent.
Carla would deal with that later.
If there was a later.
They continued.
Downstairs, Massimo woke when Marco kicked open his bedroom door.
“Attack.”
Massimo sat up.
“How many?”
“At least five.”
“My chair.”
Marco pushed it toward him.
Massimo transferred himself faster than usual.
His right leg cooperated enough to help.
He noticed.
There was no time to celebrate.
“Carla?”
“North wing team isn’t answering.”
Massimo’s face changed.
“Nina?”
“Same.”
Massimo grabbed the pistol Marco handed him.
“Take me there.”
“No.”
Massimo looked at him.
Marco didn’t flinch.
“They want you exposed.”
“They came for the child.”
“That doesn’t mean you roll into the hallway while we don’t control cameras.”
Massimo’s voice dropped.
“Marco.”
“I’ll bring them to you.”
“You have sixty seconds.”
Marco left.
Massimo rolled toward the desk.
He hated the wheelchair more intensely than he ever had.
Not because it made him weak.
Because tonight, every second mattered.
He placed both hands on the desk.
Pushed.
His right foot pressed against the floor.
His left remained nearly useless.
Massimo lifted his body.
His arms shook.
His right knee buckled.
He fell back into the chair.
“Damn it.”
He tried again.
Across the mansion, Carla and Nina reached a fork in the servant passage.
Nina pointed.
“That way.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Carla followed.
Behind them, metal scraped.
Someone had entered the passage.
Carla heard breathing.
Then a flashlight appeared far back.
“Run,” she whispered.
There was nowhere to run.
Only crawl faster.
Carla pushed forward.
Nina began crying silently.
“Almost there,” Carla whispered.
She had no idea whether that was true.
Behind them:
“I see them.”
Carla moved faster.
Her knee slammed into a pipe.
Pain exploded.
She kept going.
The passage ended at another panel.
Locked.
Carla pushed.
Nothing.
“Come on.”
She hit it harder.
Nothing.
Footsteps approached behind them.
“Nina, help Mommy.”
They pushed together.
The old latch snapped.
The panel burst open.
Carla and Nina tumbled into Massimo’s private dressing room.
Massimo turned at the sound.
“Nina?”
Carla scrambled up.
“They’re behind us!”
Massimo raised the gun.
The panel moved.
A masked man emerged.
“Don’t!”
Massimo fired once.
The shot struck the wall beside the intruder’s head.
The man ducked back.
Massimo shouted.
“Next one isn’t a warning.”
The passage went silent.
Carla grabbed Nina and moved behind the bed.
Massimo kept his gun trained on the opening.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Nina?”
“No.”
Massimo’s jaw tightened.
“Good.”
The bedroom door opened.
Massimo swung the gun.
“Boss!”
Marco.
Massimo lowered it.
“Passage.”
Marco rushed over.
His men entered from the opposite side.
A struggle echoed inside.
Then:
“Got him!”
Marco pulled one attacker into the room.
Massimo stared.
The man wasn’t Bellandi.
He wasn’t a stranger either.
He was Anthony Russo.
A Rinaldi security supervisor.
Dean had hired him four years earlier.
Massimo’s stomach turned.
“How many?”
Russo said nothing.
Marco hit the wall beside his head.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“Who sent you?”
Silence.
Massimo rolled closer.
“Look at me.”
Russo did.
Massimo had attended this man’s daughter’s baptism.
Paid for his mother’s surgery.
Promoted him twice.
“Who?”
Russo looked away.
Massimo’s voice became colder.
“Dean?”
Russo laughed weakly.
“Dean doesn’t matter anymore.”
Massimo froze.
“What does that mean?”
Russo looked directly at him.
“You still think this is his plan.”
Marco frowned.
“Whose plan is it?”
Russo smiled.
Then bit down hard.
Marco grabbed his jaw.
Too late.
A tiny capsule cracked between Russo’s teeth.
He began convulsing.
Carla turned Nina away.
“Call Evelyn!” Massimo shouted.
Marco lowered Russo to the floor.
Within seconds, he went still.
Massimo stared.
A man willing to die rather than reveal who stood above Dean.
The conspiracy had just become deeper.
Much deeper.
At 2:40 a.m., the estate was secured.
Two attackers were captured.
Three escaped.
One was dead.
One guard suffered a shoulder wound.
Carla and Nina were unharmed.
Massimo refused to leave them alone.
They moved into his adjoining sitting room under guard.
Nina sat wrapped in a blanket drinking warm milk.
She looked small.
Too small.
Massimo stared at her from across the room.
“This happened because of me.”
Carla looked up.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t send them.”
“They came because she saw something connected to my life.”
Carla walked toward him.
“You want to blame someone? Blame the people who came for a three-year-old child.”
Massimo looked down.
“My father used to say danger was the price of power.”
Carla’s expression hardened.
“Your father was wrong.”
Massimo looked at her.
“That’s an expensive thing to say in this house.”
“I’ve been cleaning this house for two years.”
She gestured around them.
“Do you know what I learned?”
“What?”
“Marble floors don’t care who owns them.”
Massimo blinked.
Carla continued.
“People spill coffee. Children leave fingerprints. Dust comes back. Everyone gets sick. Everyone gets scared.”
She looked toward Nina.
“Power doesn’t change the important parts.”
Massimo stared at her for a long moment.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Not anymore.
Nina suddenly slid off the sofa.
She walked toward Massimo carrying her blanket.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking your feet.”
“At three in the morning?”
“They got scared.”
Massimo almost smiled.
“My feet got scared?”
“Yes.”
She knelt.
Carla sighed.
“Nina—”
“Let her.”
Nina touched his right ankle.
Massimo felt pressure.
Clearer than before.
He looked down sharply.
“Again.”
She squeezed.
Massimo inhaled.
“Again.”
She did.
“I feel your hand.”
Carla covered her mouth.
Massimo’s voice broke slightly.
“I feel it.”
Nina grinned.
“I told you they were waking.”
For one beautiful minute, nobody thought about Dean.
Camille.
Attackers.
Poison.
Then Marco entered.
“Boss.”
Massimo looked up.
“What?”
“We checked Russo’s phone.”
“And?”
“One call thirty minutes before the attack.”
“To Camille?”
“No.”
“Dean?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Marco hesitated.
“The number belongs to Rinaldi Holdings.”
Massimo frowned.
“That could be dozens of people.”
Marco shook his head.
“Private office line.”
“Whose?”
Marco looked deeply uncomfortable.
Massimo’s stomach tightened.
“Say it.”
“Your uncle.”
Silence.
Massimo stared at him.
“Vittorio?”
Marco nodded.
Vittorio Rinaldi.
Massimo’s father’s younger brother.
Family consigliere for twenty-seven years.
The man who taught Massimo how to drive.
The man who stood beside his father’s coffin.
The man who had supposedly retired to Palm Beach two years earlier.
Massimo felt cold.
“Where is he?”
Marco looked at the tracking information.
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“He isn’t in Florida.”
“Where is he?”
Marco turned the screen.
A location ping showed a property less than six miles away.
Massimo recognized the address.
An abandoned Rinaldi hunting lodge.
Marco lowered his voice.
“And another phone connected to the same tower twenty minutes ago.”
“Whose?”
“Camille’s.”
Massimo stared.
Suddenly Dean no longer looked like the architect.
He looked like a contractor.
And the man who had hired him carried the Rinaldi name.
Massimo looked toward the window.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky.
“Bring Dean upstairs.”
Marco nodded.
“And prepare two cars.”
“You’re going to the lodge?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn entered from the hallway.
“No.”
Massimo looked at her.
She pointed toward his legs.
“You’re exhausted.”
“My uncle tried to have a child killed.”
“And you rolling into a possible ambush fixes that?”
Massimo stared at her.
Then Nina touched his hand.
“Uncle Massimo.”
He looked down.
“Walk tomorrow.”
The room went quiet.
Massimo frowned.
“What?”
“Walk tomorrow.”
She smiled.
“Catch bad guys today.”
For the first time since the attack began, Marco laughed.
Massimo looked at Nina.
Then at his wheelchair.
Then toward the sunrise.
“Fine.”
He turned to Marco.
“Catch bad guys today.”
Marco smiled.
“Got it.”
But six miles away, Camille Ashwood stood inside the abandoned lodge facing Vittorio Rinaldi.
“You promised Dean could handle him.”
Vittorio poured coffee.
“Dean became sentimental.”
“He tried to kill Massimo.”
“No.”
Vittorio looked toward the window.
“He tried to become Massimo.”
Camille crossed her arms.
“And now?”
Vittorio smiled.
“Now my nephew knows he was betrayed.”
“That seems bad.”
“It’s useful.”
“How?”
Vittorio lifted his cup.
“Because angry men stop looking at where the knife really is.”
Camille stared.
“What do you want?”
Vittorio smiled.
“The same thing I wanted when Massimo’s father died.”
He looked at an old photograph on the wall.
Two brothers.
One empire.
May you like
One inheritance.
“The family back.”
