Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
Life at the Oak Brook estate flourished under the warm summer sun, yet the ghosts of the past rarely die without one final, desperate struggle.
It was late August. The estate was preparing for Dominic and Ellie’s wedding, set to take place in the broad rose garden overlooking the lake. Flowers were being delivered, catering tents set up, and the atmosphere was filled with an uncharacteristic, lighthearted energy.
However, three miles away, in a maximum-security medical ward in downtown Chicago, a wire was tripped.
Victor Salerno, aging and sickly, had been transferred from federal custody to a private hospital following a severe cardiac event. He was eighty-two, dying, but his bitterness had only fermented into pure poison. He had used the last of his hidden offshore funds to hire an independent mercenary—a ruthless, ghost-like operative named Julian Vance—with one final, vicious directive: If I cannot have the Moretti empire, destroy Dominic’s happiness.
At 1:00 AM, as a light summer rain fell over the Oak Brook grounds, Julian Vance bypassed the estate’s outer fence. He moved like a shade through the darkness, carrying a silent, high-caliber sniper rifle.
In the master bedroom, Dominic woke up suddenly.
It wasn't a sound that woke him—it was that old, deep instinct that had kept him alive for twenty years in the underworld. He looked beside him. Ellie slept peacefully, her dark hair spread across the white pillows, her breathing slow and steady.
Dominic slipped out of bed, putting on a pair of dark trousers. He walked silently to the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the terrace.
A tiny, almost imperceptible red laser dot flickered across the wet flagstones of the patio.
Dominic’s blood ran cold.
He didn't panic. He moved away from the window, reaching into the bedside drawer. Though he had given up the mob, he had never surrendered the duty of protecting his family. He pulled out a compact, silenced 9mm pistol—the only weapon he kept in the new house.
"Dominic?" Ellie whispered, sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. "What’s wrong?"
"Stay in bed, Ellie," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that smooth, dangerous register she hadn't heard in six months. "We have company."
Ellie’s eyes widened instantly. The softness of the bride-to-be melted away, replaced by the fierce, unyielding protector who had broken Mason Rourke’s wrist. She sat up, pulling her heavy satin robe around her shoulders.
"Not again," Ellie growled, throwing back the covers.
"Ellie, no," Dominic ordered softly, turning to her. "This isn't a kitchen fight. There’s a shooter outside."
"And Elena is in the west wing!" Ellie pointed out, stepping out of bed, her face set in stubborn stone. "You handle the shooter. I’m getting Elena."
Dominic looked at her, seeing the absolute futility of trying to order her to hide. A small, proud smile flickered across his face. "Be careful."
"I have a heavy solid-bronze statue on my nightstand," Ellie said, picking up a heavy, decorative angel figure from the table. "I’ll be fine."
Dominic crept down the main hallway, moving through the shadows toward the rear terrace. Out on the lawn, Julian Vance was maneuvering through the rose bushes, raising his rifle toward the second-floor windows.
Dominic slipped out through the side conservatory door, coming up behind the mercenary in the rain-slicked garden.
"Looking for me?" Dominic asked softly from the shadows.
Vance spun around, raising his weapon, but Dominic was faster. He fired two quiet shots, striking Vance’s rifle and shattering the wooden stock. Vance dropped the useless weapon, drawing a tactical combat knife, and lunged at Dominic with terrifying speed.
The two men crashed into the mud, wrestling in the dark amid the thorned rose bushes. Vance was younger and fast, but Dominic fought with the terrifying, desperate fury of a man who had everything to lose.
Meanwhile, inside the house, a second intruder—Vance’s spotter—had managed to slip through the unlocked kitchen door. He crept up the stairs toward Elena’s room, holding a silenced pistol.
He rounded the corner near the west wing, his weapon raised.
Suddenly, Ellie stepped out from a dark alcove. Without a word, she swung the heavy bronze angel statue with all her broad-shouldered strength, striking the spotter squarely in the chest.
The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a sack of flour. The man gasped, knocked completely off his feet, tumbling backward down the broad wooden staircase.
Ellie ran to the top of the stairs, looking down at the groaning, dazed intruder. "I told you people," she yelled down at him, her voice echoing through the house, "this house is closed for business!"
Out in the garden, Dominic finally disarmed Vance, pinning the mercenary to the mud with his knee pressed against his throat until the man passed out into cold darkness.
Minutes later, local police sirens wailed in the distance.
Dominic walked back into the house, drenched in rain and covered in mud, holding his hand to his bruised jaw. He met Ellie at the top of the stairs. She was holding her bronze angel statue, her hair messy, her satin robe splattered with wet mud from her boots.
They looked at each other for three seconds in absolute silence.
Then, both of them burst into uncontrollable, breathless laughter.
May you like
Dominic wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close despite the mud and rain, pressing his forehead against hers. "I swear, Eleanor Whitfield, every time I try to have a quiet night with you, somebody ends up rolling down the stairs."
"It keeps the relationship exciting," Ellie grinned, kissing his rain-soaked lips. "Now come on. We have a wedding to finish planning, and you need a shower."
