Chapter 4 - SHADOWS ON THE ESTATE
By her second week, Claire had established a fragile, heavily armed peace treaty within the manor. She didn’t try to force the triplets into a rigid schedule, nor did she coddle them. When they locked their tutors out of the library, Claire simply cut the Wi-Fi to the entire estate until they surrendered. When they refused to eat their vegetables, they got plain oatmeal for breakfast.
They fought her, brutally and creatively. But they respected her. Because unlike the others, Claire never threatened to tell their father. She handled her own battles.
It was 2:00 AM on a Tuesday when the illusion of safety shattered.
Claire woke up to the sound of shattered glass and the heavy, metallic clack of a high-powered rifle chambering a round. She didn't scream. Years of living in terrible neighborhoods had trained her body to react before her brain did. She rolled out of bed, hit the floor, and crawled into Rosie’s adjoining room.
She shoved a sleeping Rosie under the heavy oak bedframe, pressing a finger to her lips as the little girl’s eyes flew open in terror.
“Stay entirely quiet, baby,” Claire whispered.
She crept into the hallway. The house was bathed in the eerie red glow of emergency security lights. Gunfire erupted from the east wing—the wing where the triplets slept.
Without thinking, Claire grabbed a heavy bronze candlestick from a hallway table and sprinted down the corridor. She found the nursery doors splintered open. Inside, a masked man was reaching for Enzo, who was backed into a corner, his eyes wide with absolute, paralyzed fear.
Claire didn’t hesitate. She swung the heavy bronze base directly into the back of the intruder’s skull.
The man dropped like a stone.
Before Claire could catch her breath, a second man lunged through the shattered window. Before he could raise his weapon, three deafening shots rang out from the doorway. The intruder fell backward, his chest torn apart by bullets.
Julian stood in the doorway, a customized 1911 pistol smoking in his hand. He was in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his face a mask of primal, unhinged fury. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek.
He stepped over the bodies, grabbing Enzo, Leo, and Mateo, pulling all three of his sons into a crushing embrace. Then, he looked up at Claire, who was still gripping the bloody candlestick, shaking uncontrollably.
“Are you hurt?” Julian demanded, his voice a ragged snarl.
“No,” Claire choked out. “Rosie is under the bed.”
Julian stood up, pulling a radio from his belt. “Breach secured in the east wing. Clean up the bodies. Nobody sleeps. Put the estate on lockdown.” He walked over to Claire, taking the heavy bronze weapon from her trembling hands. His fingers brushed against hers, warm and rough.
“They were coming for my sons,” Julian said, his eyes burning with a dark, violent promise. “You saved Enzo’s life.”
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“Who are you, Julian?” Claire asked, the adrenaline finally wearing off, leaving her breathless.
“I’m the head of the Rinaldi family,” he answered quietly. “And I just started a war.”
