Chapter 7 - The Perimeter Line
Dante’s relaxed posture vanished in a fraction of a second.
His eyes narrowed into dark flint. He reached into his leather holster under his arm, pulling out a sleek matte-black automatic handgun with practiced ease.
“Stay in the bathroom with Jamie,” Dante commanded quietly, his voice completely devoid of hesitation. “Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me or Frankie.”
“Dante, please be careful,” I pleaded, my heart leaping into my throat as I held Jamie tightly against my chest.
He looked back at me over his shoulder, offering a small, reassuring nod. “They came to the wrong estate, Penelope.”
He slipped out of the nursery, closing the heavy oak door behind him.
I locked the bathroom door, sat on the floor against the wall, and wrapped Jamie in his yellow flannel blanket. I covered his ears with my hands, praying silently into the quiet darkness of the steamed room.
Outside the cottage, the deep crunch of heavy boots on frozen snow echoed through the winter air.
Through the thick walls, I heard the sudden, sharp command of Dante’s voice: “You’re trespassing on Moretti land, Sal.”
A rough, gravelly voice answered from the dark: “We came for the girl, Moretti. Word is she’s got Owen’s old work logs. Hand her over and we leave the resort intact.”
“Owen didn't keep work logs, Sal,” Dante’s voice rang out, cold and unyielding as iron. “He didn't need to. I have everything I need right here.”
A loud gunshot shattered the night silence.
I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling Jamie closer.
What followed was twenty seconds of intense, disciplined gunfire—the sharp pop of tactical handguns echoing off the stone walls of the main estate.
Then, complete silence.
The wind howled outside the small bathroom window. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes. I counted my own pounding heartbeats, my ears strained to catch any sound from the living room.
Footsteps approached the nursery door.
Heavy. Unhurried.
Key turned in the lock.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Dante stood in the doorway. His white dress shirt had a smudge of dark soot across the shoulder, but he was completely unharmed. He held his gun at his side, his face calm and composed.
“It’s clear,” Dante said quietly.
I stood up on shaking legs, holding Jamie. “Are they... gone?”
“Sal and his crew won't be coming back,” Dante said, stepping closer and offering his arm to support me. “And the Valenti family just lost their last operational cell in South Buffalo.”
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He looked down at Jamie, who had slept through the entire commotion, resting peacefully against my chest.
“It’s over, Penelope,” Dante whispered. “You’re safe now.”
