Chapter 8: The Enemy of My Enemy

The estate emergency lights came on in strips of red along the floor.

For one terrifying second, the entire house looked like it was bleeding.

“Nico!” I shouted.

Elena was already running down the hallway toward the nursery. Marcus’s security team moved in practiced formation, weapons drawn, voices low and controlled through their earpieces.

“East perimeter breach confirmed.”

“Two vehicles.”

“Thermal shows six individuals.”

“Possible decoy.”

I reached the nursery just as Elena pulled Nico from his crib. He was crying now, his tiny face red, his hands clenched into fists.

“I’ve got him,” she said.

“No,” I replied, taking him from her. “Stay with us.”

Marcus appeared at the doorway.

“We need to move to the safe room.”

“Who are they?”

“Not Lucian’s usual men.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Lucian’s men would have tried to negotiate first.”

The safe room was hidden behind a false wall in the library. It had reinforced steel doors, independent air filtration, surveillance monitors, emergency supplies, and a private communications system.

I had thought it was excessive when I bought the property.

Now, sitting inside with Nico against my chest, I understood that paranoia was simply intelligence after trauma.

On the monitor, I watched the intruders approach the east side of the house.

They wore black tactical clothing and masks. They moved too cleanly to be ordinary criminals. No shouting. No reckless firing. No attempt to storm the front doors.

They were testing the perimeter.

Searching.

“They’re not here to kill us,” I said.

Marcus looked at me.

“What makes you say that?”

“If they wanted us dead, they would have used explosives. They’re trying to get inside quietly.”

“To take Nico?”

“Or to take something else.”

My eyes fell to the flash drive in my pocket.

Bianca’s files.

Marcus followed my gaze.

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Serena, if that drive contains what Bianca claims it does, then it may be the reason they came.”

“Exactly. Which means it stays with me.”

Before Marcus could argue, the private line rang.

He answered, listened for a moment, then handed me the phone.

“Someone insists on speaking with you.”

I pressed it to my ear.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice answered.

“Mrs. Moretti.”

“Ms. Moretti.”

A faint chuckle.

“Of course. Forgive me. Old habits.”

“Who is this?”

“Someone who believes Lucian Moretti has been allowed to breathe for far too long.”

My blood ran cold.

“Are you the one who sent Bianca?”

“I gave her an opportunity. She chose to take it.”

“What do you want?”

“The flash drive.”

“No.”

“You have no idea what is on it.”

“I know enough.”

“Do you?” His voice became quieter. “There are names on that drive that do not belong in court documents. Names that would make federal agents disappear, judges resign, and senators deny knowing their own children.”

“Then why give it to Bianca?”

“Because Bianca is sentimental. She thought you might be brave enough to use it.”

I looked at the monitors. One of the intruders had reached the side entrance but was quickly forced back by Marcus’s team.

“You sent people to my house.”

“I sent people to retrieve property that does not belong to you.”

“It belongs to whoever is willing to expose it.”

For the first time, the man sounded irritated.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Serena.”

“No,” I said. “I’m changing the rules.”

I ended the call.

Marcus gave a short command into his earpiece. Seconds later, the security lights outside the house flared bright white, flooding the east lawn. The intruders scattered toward the tree line.

A chase followed.

We watched in silence as Marcus’s team secured the perimeter. One man was caught near the lake. Another escaped in a black SUV. The rest vanished into the woods before police arrived.

The captured man refused to speak.

Until I entered the holding room.

He was younger than I expected. Maybe thirty. A scar crossed his jaw. His hands were zip-tied to the metal chair.

“You work for Lucian?” I asked.

He smiled.

“No.”

“Then who?”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“I hear that a lot.”

His smile faded.

“People like you don’t survive this.”

“People like me?”

“Wives. Mothers. Collateral.”

I pulled a chair across from him and sat down.

“No,” I said. “People like me are the reason men like you need masks.”

His eyes shifted toward the camera in the corner.

“You think you’re powerful because you have a house and bodyguards?”

“I think I’m powerful because I stopped being afraid.”

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he leaned forward.

“Your husband didn’t order this.”

“I know.”

“Your husband is being hunted too.”

That surprised me.

“By whom?”

He laughed once, but there was panic in it.

“By the man who built him.”

Marcus entered the room, his expression grim.

“Serena, we have a problem.”

“What?”

He placed another photograph on the table.

It showed Lucian leaving a building in Queens only an hour earlier. He looked bruised. Blood stained the collar of his white shirt.

Beside him stood a man I had never seen before.

Older. Silver-haired. Immaculately dressed.

On the back of the photograph was a name.

Vittorio DeLuca.

And below it, in Marcus’s handwriting:

Lucian’s godfather. Former head of the Moretti syndicate. Officially dead since 2009.

The man in the chair looked at the photograph and lost all color in his face.

“DeLuca is alive,” I said.

He swallowed.

“You should leave,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because DeLuca doesn’t want Nico.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

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“He wants an heir.”

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