Chapter 4 - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
For a month, a fragile peace settled over the estate. Milo still hadn't spoken a word, but the night terrors were fading. Nora had transformed his wing of the house into an actual child's sanctuary—finger paintings on the fridge, pillow forts in the den, and loud, chaotic cartoons playing on the massive screens.
Damon remained an enigma. He was ruthless in his business—Nora often heard the muffled, violent sounds of his phone calls behind the mahogany doors of his study—but around Milo, he tried to soften. And around Nora, he was dangerously observant. He watched her with a hungry, intense focus that made her skin prickle with heat.
The peace shattered on a Tuesday.
Nora and Milo were in the expansive back gardens. Nora was teaching him how to plant tomatoes, their hands covered in rich soil, the autumn sun warming their backs.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of Nora's neck stood up.
It was a survival instinct drilled into her from growing up in rough neighborhoods. The air felt wrong. The birds had stopped singing.
She looked toward the tree line just as a flash of silver glinted in the foliage.
"Milo, get down!" Nora screamed.
She didn't think. She lunged, tackling the five-year-old into the soft earth of the garden bed just as the sharp, suppressed thwip of a high-caliber rifle cut through the air. The terracotta pot they had been holding exploded into dust and shards, raining down on them.
Alarms blared instantly, a deafening siren that shook the estate. Marcus and three other guards swarmed the garden in seconds, guns drawn, shouting orders.
"Nora!"
The voice was a roar of pure, unadulterated terror. Damon sprinted across the lawn, shedding his suit jacket, his gun already in his hand. He dropped to his knees beside the garden bed, his hands shaking as he pulled Nora off his son.
"Are you hit? Are you hit?!" Damon demanded, his hands rapidly checking Milo, then violently gripping Nora's shoulders, his eyes scanning her for blood.
"We're fine! We're fine, he missed," Nora gasped, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.
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Damon pulled Milo into a crushing hug, burying his face in his son's neck. But over Milo's shoulder, Damon’s eyes locked onto Nora. The cold, calculated crime boss was gone. In his place was a man who had almost lost his world twice, and the terrifying realization of how much Nora had just risked to save his blood.
"Get them in the vault," Damon ordered Marcus, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy whisper. He stood up, looking toward the tree line, his expression transforming into something utterly demonic. "And find whoever took that shot. Bring them to me alive. I want to take my time."
