Chapter 7 - A Mother’s Guard
The rain began to fall as the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the Sicilian sky into a bruised canvas of purple and grey.
Inside Alessandro’s private quarters, the air was warm, smelling of cedarwood and old books. It was a sanctuary, the most heavily fortified room in the entire estate.
Sophia sat on the edge of the massive, velvet-draped bed, holding Emma tightly in her lap. The little girl had finally fallen asleep, exhausted by the day’s terror. Sophia’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She looked around the room.
It was a fortress, yet it was also remarkably intimate. On the desk sat a framed, faded photograph of a young Alessandro with his mother—the only woman he had ever openly loved, who had passed away years ago. Beside it lay a heavy, gold-plated watch and a leather-bound journal.
Sophia felt a strange, deep ache in her chest.
Alessandro Duca was a monster to the rest of the world. He was a man of blood, shadows, and ruthless power. But to her... to her daughter... he had been a shield. He had looked at Emma not with irritation, but with a fierce, protective warmth that she hadn't seen since her husband died.
Suddenly, the lights in the room flickered.
BZZZ.
The hum of the backup generator kicked in, but the lights remained dim, casting the room in a ghostly, amber glow.
Sophia’s instincts, honed by years of living on the edge of survival, screamed at her.
She stood up slowly, gently laying Emma onto the bed and pulling the heavy duvet over her. She walked quietly to the door and pressed her ear against the thick mahogany.
Outside, the quiet hum of the hallway was gone.
Instead, she heard a faint, wet sliding sound.
Like a body being dragged across marble.
Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. The guards. The double guard Alessandro had left outside.
A shadow passed under the door crack, blocking the faint light from the hallway.
The door handle began to turn. Slowly. Quietly.
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Sophia didn't scream. There was no time for panic. She looked around the room frantically. Her eyes landed on the heavy, silver fire poker resting by the grand hearth.
She grabbed it, her fingers wrapping around the cold iron. She stepped into the shadows behind the door, holding her breath, waiting.
