Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Grass
Power breeds envy, and in Kian Moretti’s world, envy was usually spelled in blood.
A month after the gala, winter had set in completely, covering the Long Island estate in a thick blanket of snow. My life had settled into a beautiful, fragile rhythm. Zayn was thriving, laughing more every day, and Kian… Kian was slowly letting down his guard.
Late at night, he no longer sat alone in his glass library. He sat with me by the fireplace, drinking tea while I read, our quiet conversations stretching into the early hours of the morning. The dark, terrifying mafia king was showing me the tender, fiercely loyal man hidden beneath the armor.
But the dark underworld never stays quiet for long.
Marco, Kian’s underboss and long-time second-in-command, had been secretly growing bitter. He believed Kian’s sudden focus on a non-mafia woman was making the syndicate soft. Desperate for power, Marco struck a deal in the shadows with Regina and the remains of Tony’s gang, plotting a coup that would wipe out the Moretti bloodline in one fell swoop.
It happened on a Tuesday afternoon.
I was accompanying Zayn to his private pediatric clinic in Manhattan—a trip guarded by four of Kian’s best security officers. Kian was tied up in a high-stakes board meeting downtown, leaving us under Marco’s direct tactical supervision.
As our two-car convoy pulled into the subterranean parking garage of the medical building, the lights suddenly flickered and died, plunging the space into near-total darkness.
“Hold positions!” the lead driver yelled, reaching for his sidearm.
Before anyone could react, heavy automatic gunfire erupted from the shadows, shattering the front windshield of our armored SUV.
Zayn let out a terrified shriek, burying his face into my lap. “Miss Aurora!”
“Get down!” I screamed, throwing myself over his small body, shielding him completely with my own frame as bullets whined against the reinforced metal door panels.
Through the smoked glass, I saw our guards exchanging fire with six masked men in tactical gear. But to my horror, Marco—who was supposed to be leading our defense—simply stepped back into the shadows, a dark, traitorous smile on his face as he let the attackers advance.
He had set us up.
The rear door of our SUV was violently pried open with a crowbar. A towering man with a scar running across his eye reached into the cabin, pulling out a heavy handgun.
“Grab the kid!” he ordered his associate. “The boss said to kill the girl and hold the boy for ransom!”
Terror spiked through me, but it was immediately replaced by a blinding, feral instinct to protect the boy in my arms.
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed the heavy metal thermos containing Zayn’s warm tea from the cup holder and smashed it with all my strength across the attacker’s face.
The man roared in pain as scalding liquid and heavy stainless steel shattered his nose. He stumbled backward, dropping his gun.
“Run, Zayn!” I yelled, pulling the boy out of the opposite door.
We scrambled through the pitch-black garage toward a concrete utility room. Bullets chipped away at the concrete pillars around us, sending sharp dust into the air. I held Zayn tightly against my chest, my feet flying across the cold concrete floor.
Just as we reached the safety of the metal utility door, a sharp BANG echoed right behind us.
A searing, white-hot pain exploded through my left shoulder.
I gasped, dropping to one knee on the cold floor, but I didn't let go of Zayn. I shoved him inside the utility room, slammed the heavy steel fire door shut, and threw the deadbolt from the inside just as heavy boots came pounding down the hallway.
“Miss Aurora!” Zayn sobbed, staring in horror at the dark blood rapidly soaking through my white wool coat. “You’re bleeding! You’re hurt!”
“I’m okay, baby,” I gasped, sliding down against the cold door, my vision blurring around the edges as intense pain throbbed through my arm. I pulled him into a tight embrace with my good right arm. “I’m okay… we’re safe in here…”
Outside, the heavy metal door shuddered under violent kicks.
“Open the door, bitch! You’re gonna die anyway!”
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding Zayn as close as I could, listening to the pounding heartbeat in my ears.
Then, suddenly, the gunshots outside doubled in intensity.
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Screams of terror cut through the hallway—not from our guards, but from the attackers. The sound of heavy combat boots echoed like thunder, followed by the terrifying, familiar roar of a man who had stepped straight out of hell.
Kian had arrived.
