Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING IN THE WOODS
The cold night air hit my face like a physical blow as I burst out of the hidden stone exit of the escape tunnel, clutching Niko tightly against my chest.
Behind me, deep within the subterranean bowels of the estate, the muffled pop of a 9mm gunshot echoed through the stone vents.
Elena.
Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to choke off my breath, but I forced my legs to move, scrambling over the jagged slate rocks and plunging blindly into the dense, towering pines of the Hudson Valley forest. The rain had turned to a freezing mist, soaking through my clothes and turning the muddy ground beneath my boots into a treacherous slide.
Branches whipped across my face, scratching my cheeks, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't. I was running for my son’s life, running away from a dynasty built on blood, deceit, and the absolute ownership of women.
Suddenly, a bright beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the darkness thirty yards to my left.
“Over here! I see movement by the tree line!” a voice barked through the misty woods.
Footsteps crunched heavily over the frozen pine needles, closing in fast.
I ducked behind the thick trunk of a massive oak tree, holding my breath, pressing my hand firmly over Niko’s mouth to stop him from crying out if he woke up. The baby shifted slightly against my chest, letting out a tiny, muffled sigh, but thankfully remained asleep.
“Check the ridge!” another voice shouted closer this time.
A flashlight beam swept across the bark inches from my face, illuminating the falling mist in stark, glowing white.
I waited until the light flickered away, then bolted out from behind the tree, sprinting toward the steep cliff edge where the dark, rushing waters of the river churned far below.
I had reached a dead end.
The slate cliff dropped away into a sheer, hundred-foot precipice. There was no way down except a narrow, treacherous goat path covered in slick mud and loose gravel.
“Found her!”
I spun around.
Marco Vitale stepped out from the shadows of the pine trees, his gun raised, breathing hard with a dark bruise swelling along his jawline—proof that Elena had given him hell before they broke through the cellar door.
Behind him, stepping slowly through the mist with his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets, came Lucian.
His dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain, his tailored suit ruined by mud and ash, but his eyes—those terrifying, predatory coal-black eyes—were locked entirely on me.
“End of the line, Serena,” Lucian said softly, his voice cutting through the sound of the rushing river below. He walked closer, stepping past Marco as if the armed enforcer didn't even exist. “You really thought you could run from me? You thought a half-burned ghost like Julian could protect you from your own husband?”
“You aren't my husband, Lucian,” I said, my voice ringing out clear and steady against the howling wind. I stood at the very edge of the cliff, the abyss yawning behind my heels. “A husband protects. A husband honors. You sold me out for a shipping route and a blonde mistress. You’re nothing more than a criminal with a fancy tailor.”
A muscle twitched in Lucian’s jaw. The insult didn't just hit his pride; it shattered the illusion of control he had spent his entire life building.
“Give me my son, Serena,” Lucian commanded, taking another step forward, his hand extending. “Hand Niko to me right now, and I will let you walk away with your sister. We will file the divorce quietly in the morning. You can have the Hamptons house, the cars, the accounts. But the boy stays with the Moretti family.”
“So he can grow up to be just like you?” I laughed, a bitter, ringing sound that echoed off the canyon walls. “So he can learn how to lie to his wife while she labors alone? So he can betray his own blood for a corporate merger? I would rather jump off this cliff right now than let you lay a single finger on my son.”
Lucian stopped dead in his tracks. The color drained entirely from his face.
“Serena... don't be a fool,” Lucian pleaded, his voice cracking for the first time, the terrifying mafia boss momentarily stripping away to reveal the desperate, cornered man beneath. “You can't jump. The river will kill you both.”
“Then at least he dies free,” I whispered.
I took a half-step backward, my heel sliding over the loose gravel at the absolute precipice of the cliff.
“Boss, look out!” Marco suddenly shouted, dropping to one knee and raising his weapon.
From the dense tree line behind Lucian, a single shot rang out with a sharp, echoing crack.
Marco’s gun flew out of his hand as a bullet clipped his thumb, sending him spinning backward into the mud.
From the shadows of the pines stepped Julian Moretti.
May you like
His assault rifle was raised, the barrel smoking in the cold night air, his eyes locked dead on his brother.
“Drop the gun, Lucian,” Julian snarled. “Or I swear to God, I’ll finish what we started six years ago.”
