Part 4
The Romano estate looked less like a home and more like a war zone.
Dozens of men in black tactical gear were moving across the lawn, their flashlights cutting through the driving rain.
The front doors of the grand mansion stood wide open, heavy oak splintered at the frame.
Adrian stepped out of the SUV before it had even fully stopped.
"Stay behind me," he ordered Emma without looking back.
She didn't need to be told twice.
Holding the sleeping baby, Leo, against her shoulder, she followed Adrian into the massive foyer.
The luxury inside was staggering—crystal chandeliers, imported Italian art, marble staircases.
But it was all stained by chaos.
A dead guard lay near the base of the stairs, a pool of dark blood expanding beneath him.
Emma averted her eyes, focusing entirely on the rhythmic breathing of the child in her arms.
"Report!" Adrian roared.
A tall man with a scarred face and an automatic rifle stepped forward, soaking wet and pale.
"Sir. It was a synchronized strike. They knew the shift changes. They knew the blind spots in the grid. They used a military-grade jammer to cut our comms before we could signal the city units."
"The vault?" Adrian's voice was deathly quiet.
"Cleaned out. The bearer bonds, the offshore ledgers, the reserve cash... and the cipher."
Adrian’s eyes widened slightly.
The cipher.
Emma didn't know what that meant, but judging by the sudden, suffocating tension in the room, it was worse than losing a billion dollars.
"Who did this, Marco?" Adrian asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"We found a signature left on the vault wall, boss," Marco said, his voice shaking. "A red snake. The Volkov syndicate."
The Russian mob.
Adrian closed his eyes for a single second. When he opened them, the man of business was gone. Only the killer remained.
"They think they can bleed me," Adrian whispered. "They think because my wife is gone and my son is young, I have grown soft."
He turned sharply to Emma.
"Take Leo up to the nursery. Marco, put four men on her door. If anyone who isn't me tries to enter that room, blow their heads off."
"Yes, sir."
Emma followed Marco up the grand staircase, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The nursery was at the end of a long, heavily carpeted hallway.
Inside, the room was a masterpiece of soft blues and creams. A beautiful white crib sat in the center.
But the room felt cold.
Tainted.
Emma walked inside, her nurse’s instincts immediately taking over despite the terror.
She looked around the room, scanning the environment.
Something felt wrong.
She didn't put Leo in the crib. Instead, she sat on the rocking chair, keeping him close.
She looked at the diaper changing station.
She looked at the shelves of toys.
Then, her eyes locked onto a small, silver humidifier humming quietly in the corner, releasing a fine mist into the air.
Emma frowned.
She stood up, carrying the baby, and walked over to the device.
She sniffed the mist.
It didn't smell like water.
It had a faint, sweet, chemical odor.
Almost imperceptible.
But to a woman who had spent months in pediatric intensive care units, it was distinct.
Emma’s blood ran cold.
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The nanny hadn't just fed the baby something to make him cry.
She had turned his nursery into a slow-poison chamber.
