Chapter 4 – The Twin in the Shadows

The revelation hung in the sterile air of the bedroom like a live grenade.

Twins.

I clutched my bandaged shoulder, the physical pain completely eclipsed by the agonizing shock tearing through my mind. I had a son. A boy who had been stolen from me the moment he took his first breath. A boy raised by the very monsters who murdered his father.

“Mom, you have to breathe,” Rebecca urged, her hands gripping my good arm tightly. “You’re going into shock.”

“I have a son,” I wept, staring blankly at the wall. “They took my baby.”

Luca hadn’t waited for another word. He was already sprinting down the hallway, shouting orders to his men. The estate alarms began to blare, a deafening, rhythmic wail that signaled a total lockdown.

“Stay here,” Marco ordered, rushing into the room with his weapon drawn. He positioned himself by the door, his massive frame blocking the exit. “Nobody comes in or out.”

“Where did Luca go?” Rebecca asked, panic lacing her voice.

“To the armory,” Marco replied grimly. “If the Volkovs have a Moretti heir, they won’t wait. They’ll use him tonight to claim the syndicate.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “What do you mean, use him?”

Marco looked at me with deep sympathy, but he didn’t sugarcoat the truth.

“The Commission—the ruling body of the Five Families—values bloodlines above all else,” Marco explained. “Luca has no children. If he dies, the syndicate falls to the next in line. If the Volkovs present Matteo’s son to the Commission after executing Luca, the boy legally inherits the Chicago empire. And the Volkovs control the boy.”

I felt sick. “They’re going to force my son to kill his own uncle?”

“They won’t have to force him,” Marco said quietly. “If they raised him, they’ve spent twenty-eight years brainwashing him to hate this family.”

Before I could process the nightmare, the heavy thud of a distant explosion shook the mansion.

The crystal chandelier above the bed rattled violently.

“They’re breaching the front gate!” Marco yelled into his radio. “All units, defend the perimeter! Protect the Don!”

The sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the grounds outside. It sounded like a warzone.

Rebecca screamed, throwing her arms over her head. I grabbed her, pulling her onto the bed beside me, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder.

“Stay down!” I ordered, wrapping my good arm around her trembling body.

The bedroom door suddenly locked from the outside with a heavy, metallic clank.

Marco spun around, grabbing the handle. “What the hell? Who locked the door?”

He pounded on the thick mahogany wood. “Open up! This is Marco!”

No answer.

Just the muffled sound of footsteps walking away down the hallway.

“We’re locked in,” Marco growled, stepping back and raising his rifle. “Someone inside the house triggered the emergency override.”

“Who?” Rebecca asked, terrified.

“A traitor,” Marco said, his jaw clenching.

The gunfire outside grew louder, closer. The Volkovs weren’t just attacking the gate; they were storming the mansion.

Suddenly, the lights in the bedroom flickered and died. We were plunged into total darkness, save for the emergency red lighting kicking on near the baseboards.

“Get in the closet. Now,” Marco commanded, his voice deadly calm.

I didn’t argue. I grabbed Rebecca’s hand, and we scrambled off the bed, stumbling through the dim red light into the massive walk-in closet. We huddled together on the floor behind a row of hanging suits, terrified and silent.

Marco stood in the center of the bedroom, his rifle aimed squarely at the locked door.

For two agonizing minutes, there was only the sound of distant gunfire and our own frantic breathing.

Then, the heavy mahogany door exploded inward.

Splinters of wood showered the room as the lock was blown apart by a shotgun blast.

Marco fired instantly. The deafening roar of his assault rifle lit up the dark bedroom with rapid muzzle flashes.

Two men in black tactical gear fell in the doorway, but a third rolled into the room, returning fire.

Marco grunted, stumbling backward as a bullet grazed his thigh, but he didn’t stop shooting. He put three rounds into the third attacker’s chest, dropping him instantly.

Silence fell over the room again.

“Marco?” I whispered from the closet, trembling violently.

“I’m okay,” Marco breathed heavily, limping toward the doorway to check the bodies.

But as he reached the threshold, a shadow moved from the hallway.

A figure stepped over the dead men. He moved with terrifying, silent speed. Before Marco could raise his rifle, the figure struck. A blindingly fast kick knocked the weapon from Marco’s hands, followed by a brutal, open-palm strike to Marco’s chest that sent the massive security chief crashing back into the bedroom wall.

Marco slumped to the floor, unconscious.

I clamped a hand over Rebecca’s mouth to muffle her scream.

The figure stepped fully into the dim red light of the bedroom.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing dark combat gear. His face was obscured by a black tactical mask, leaving only his eyes visible.

He didn’t hold a gun. He held a sleek, combat knife.

He walked slowly toward the bed, scanning the room.

I held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut, praying to God he wouldn’t look in the closet.

The man stopped in the center of the room. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking directly onto the slatted doors of the closet where we hid.

He knew we were there.

He walked toward us, his footsteps completely silent on the hardwood floor.

He grabbed the handle of the closet door and ripped it open.

I screamed, throwing my body over Rebecca to shield her, bracing for the blade.

But the strike never came.

The man froze.

He stared down at us, the combat knife hovering inches from my neck. His eyes—the only part of his face I could see—were wide, fixed entirely on my face.

They were blue-gray.

The exact same color as mine. The exact same color as Rebecca’s.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Leo?” I whispered, guessing the name, hoping the maternal instinct tearing through my chest was right.

The man’s hand shook. The lethal assassin sent to eliminate the Moretti bloodline hesitated.

He looked from my face to Rebecca’s face, seeing the undeniable, striking resemblance that mirrored his own. Twenty-eight years of Volkov brainwashing fractured in a single second.

He slowly lowered the knife.

Before he could speak, a blinding spotlight flooded through the shattered bedroom window.

A voice boomed from a megaphone outside in the courtyard.

“Drop the weapon, Alexei!” the heavy Russian accent of the Volkov boss ordered. “Kill the women and bring me Luca’s head! Do it now!”

The man in the mask—Alexei—looked toward the window, then back at me.

He didn’t raise the knife.

Instead, he reached up and pulled the tactical mask off his face.

I gasped.

It was like looking at a ghost. He had Matteo’s strong jaw, his dark hair, but his eyes… his eyes were entirely mine.

He was my son.

Alexei looked at me, a lifetime of confusion and rage warring in his expression.

“They told me my mother threw me in a dumpster,” Alexei whispered, his voice hoarse, heavily accented with Russian. “They said the Morettis paid her to do it.”

“They lied,” I sobbed, reaching out a trembling hand. “They stole you from me.”

Alexei stared at my outstretched hand.

Before he could take it, the bedroom door burst open again.

Luca Moretti charged into the room, his white shirt stained with blood, dual pistols raised and aimed squarely at Alexei’s back.

“Step away from them!” Luca roared, ready to execute the assassin.

“No! Luca, don’t shoot!” I screamed, throwing myself between Luca’s guns and my son. “He’s your nephew! It’s him!”

Luca froze, his eyes widening as Alexei slowly turned around.

The Don of Chicago stared at the face of his dead brother, resurrected in the man standing in front of him.

But the reunion was cut short.

The unmistakable, mechanical click of a grenade pin being pulled echoed from the hallway.

We all turned.

Standing in the doorway, bleeding heavily from her shoulder but grinning with manic delight, was Vanessa Bellini.

She held a live frag grenade.

“If I can’t have the empire,” Vanessa shrieked, “none of you can!”

She tossed the grenade directly into the bedroom.