As I stand in the hallway, the sound of breaking glass shattering and crunching under footsteps sends a shiver down my spine.
Did someone just break a window?
The alarm is eerily silent.
I want to be wrong.
The wind roars and is louder than before.
Could the storm have blown out a window?
Nova jumps up from the sofa, her eyes wide, and we exchange a look of apprehension.
She heard it, too—the sound unmistakable.
Fear jolts through my veins. “Go get Zeke,” I order her as I hurry the three feet to the hall closet and retrieve the gun hidden on the top shelf in the back.
Hands trembling, the gun is already loaded, and I cock off the safety, prepared to use it if absolutely necessary. I’m grateful that just last week, for the first time, Ashton and Luca took me to the shooting range.
I’m not a great shot from a distance, but up close, I can at least hit the target in the chest, which is all I need.
I’m not going for a sniper medal. I just need to be able to protect my son and my family.
Footsteps.
It’s definitely not just a storm.
The footsteps are heavy, like boots trudging through mud, careful, precise, quiet, but not silent enough.
Nova opens the bedroom door to Zeke’s room. The man with the snake tattoo appears, holding my sleeping son over one shoulder, and a gun in his other hand.
“Harper,” Nova’s voice catches in her throat.
Zeke hasn’t stirred, and an evil smile sneaks across the tattooed man’s face. “I should thank your husband for murdering my father, Massimo, but I won’t.” He flashes a toothless grin and raises his gun at me. “But I am taking the child with me.”
“Hand over my son,” I growl, gun poised at the tattooed man. I can’t aim for the center of his chest without risking hitting Zeke. There’s too much distance between us.
A week at the shooting range is barely enough time to feel confident in my ability to shoot the assailant and not hurt my boy.
“The way I see it, the Riccis released all those girls, you owe me. The boy will be taken as collateral, and I won’t harm a hair on his head, you have my word unless you or the Riccis come after me or my enterprise.”
I step closer to the madman, my gun poised, my hand slightly trembling, but I pray he doesn’t notice. “You’ll need nothing when you’re dead.”
“On the contrary, you won’t shoot me. Not while I have your little boy in my arms. You’re too weak to pull the trigger, too complacent. You’ll follow my orders if you and your friend want to live.” His gun is poised on me, not Zeke, which is my only advantage.
My life is nothing without Zeke.
I close the distance between us, the gap mere inches, the barrel of my gun almost touching his chest.
“You won’t,” he smirks, convinced I don’t have it in me to pull the trigger.
He’s wrong.
He has to be, because I won’t let anyone take my son from me.
The deafening roar of thunder outside almost drowns out the sharp crack of my gunshot. For a split second, time stands still.
Two shots fire from the assailant’s gun, but I feel nothing.
