Chapter 4 - The Black Vehicles
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The new dynamic in the Rossi estate was a fragile, terrifying tightrope.
For the next week, Victor actually kept his word. He arrived home by six o'clock every evening. He sat at the massive mahogany dining table, awkwardly attempting to ask Finn about his day. The conversations were stilted, filled with painful pauses, but Finn slowly began to look at his father without immediate fear.
I facilitated the interactions, acting as a translator between a ruthless billionaire and a terrified five-year-old. But my awareness of Victor had drastically shifted. I noticed the way his sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. I noticed the exhaustion in his posture that he only let show when he thought I wasn't looking.
On Thursday afternoon, the delicate peace shattered.
I was in the front garden with Finn, showing him how to plant tulip bulbs in the damp earth. The high iron gates of the estate were usually a comforting barrier, but today, they felt like the bars of a cage.
Suddenly, a convoy of three sleek, black, unmarked SUVs aggressively pulled up to the outer perimeter.
The estate guards instantly mobilized, drawing automatic weapons from beneath their jackets. The peaceful garden transformed into a militarized zone in a matter of seconds.
"Harper," one of the senior guards, a massive man named Dante, yelled from the porch. "Get the boy inside! Now!"
I didn't hesitate. I scooped Finn up, dropping the gardening trowel, and sprinted up the marble steps. Finn buried his face in my neck, whimpering as the sounds of shouting erupted at the gate.
Once inside the heavy oak doors, I rushed us into the main study, locking the deadbolt behind me. I set Finn down behind Victor's massive desk, pulling him into a tight embrace on the floor.
"Are the bad men here?" Finn whispered, his entire body shaking violently.
"No, sweetheart, the guards are just doing their job," I lied, my heart hammering against my ribs.
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Through the thick glass window of the study, I saw Victor march out the front doors. He didn't look like the awkward father from the dinner table. He looked like the devil himself. He strode down the driveway toward the gates, flanked by heavily armed men, radiating a cold, apocalyptic fury.
The rival family had arrived. The Falcones were making a move, and they had brought the war directly to our front door.
