Chapter 23
Night had completely swallowed the Italian mountains. Not a single natural sound remained—not the wind in the trees, not the distant call of any animal. Only a heavy, almost suffocating silence, broken by the sharp wail of the alarms.
The sound was relentless. Repetitive. Cold.
Minutes earlier, the cabin had been wrapped in a fragile bubble of happiness: the soft cry of the newborn, Sara’s tears of relief, the exhausted smiles. Now all of that had dissolved. Reality had returned.
Mateo couldn’t take his eyes off the security screens.
“Movement confirmed in the north sector, east, and on the main road. They’re surrounding us. Multiple vehicles.”
Vincenzo stepped closer, shoulders rigid. His jaw locked as he stared at the blurred images. The mask of control he always wore was cracking, replaced by pure rage.
“They’re here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a growl.
The silence that followed was deadly.
Eleonora didn’t waste time. She entered the bedroom like a shadow, Leonardo right behind her.
She opened the bag with precise movements.
Took the pistol, checked the magazine with a sharp click, then slid knives into the sheaths strapped to her thighs and ankle.
Her fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the adrenaline already burning in her veins.
“You know how to use one?” she asked without looking at Leonardo, her voice low and cutting.
“I know enough to kill anyone who gets near you,” he answered, taking another weapon. The tone was dark, without any cheap heroism. Just the raw truth of a man who had already crossed lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.
In the main living room, Lorenzo checked the pistols at his waist, his face lit only by the weak glow of the monitors. His expression wasn’t worry. It was hunger.
“How many vehicles?” he asked, his voice far too calm.
“At least six in the last images,” Mateo replied. “They’ll be here in minutes. Maybe less.”
Vincenzo walked to the back of the kitchen and opened the hidden panel. The arsenal revealed itself in practical order. Machine guns, assault rifles, pistols, flashbangs, boxes of ammunition.
Lorenzo approached with that crooked smile that always preceded death. He picked up a light machine gun and slammed the magazine in with a metallic click that echoed through the cabin.
“Good…” he murmured, almost to himself. “I was starting to miss that smell. Blood and gunpowder. Killing people has always been my specialty. It calms me down.”
Vincenzo loaded his rifle without taking his eyes off the weapon.
“It’s been weeks since I shot anyone. I was getting impatient. Bored.” His voice came out low, almost intimate. “Tonight I’m going to remember why I like this.”
Lorenzo let out a low, joyless laugh.
“You’re a sick bastard, Vincenzo.”
“I know.” He lifted his gaze, cold, unbothered by who he was. His woman loved him that way—for who he was—and that made him proud.
Vincenzo pointed at the monitors.
“They don’t know the cabin. Every corner, every crack, every blind spot… we do. That’s the only advantage we have.” His eyes swept over the lit lights in the room. “Kill everything.”
“Everything?” Eleonora asked from the doorway.
“Everything. Now.”
In less than a minute, darkness took over.
The lights in the living room, the hallways, the kitchen, the bedrooms—all dead.
Only the silver glow of the moon remained, spilling through the windows and casting long, distorted shadows across the wooden walls.
The cabin stopped being a home. It became a trap.
They were no longer prey. They were the monsters inside the cage.
Upstairs, Sara held Catarina against her chest. The baby slept deeply, oblivious to the cruel world surrounding her. Her tiny fingers clutched the fabric of her mother’s shirt as if she somehow knew, instinctively, that death was circling.
Vincenzo entered the room carrying the rifle, his face half-hidden by the darkness. Sara went pale at the sight of him like this—armed to the teeth, eyes filled with something beyond fear: a dark, almost savage determination.
“Vincenzo…”
He closed the door behind him and knelt in front of her. His large, calloused hands cupped her face with desperate urgency.
“Do not leave this room,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost broken. “Not if I fall. Not if you hear me screaming. Not if hell itself comes through that door. You stay here. Protect our daughter. Understood?”
Sara nodded, her lips trembling. She had never seen him like this—vulnerable and lethal at the same time.
“I’m going to stay here with you both,” he continued, his forehead pressed against hers. “And I’ll kill anyone who dares come near you.”
He kissed her forehead. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence of his words, he kissed the baby’s tiny head.
“I swear,” he repeated, as if the repetition could turn the promise into reality.
Downstairs, Eleonora moved closer to Leonardo in the shadows. She gripped his hand tightly, fingers laced with force. He squeezed back, almost hard enough to hurt.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “We’re getting out of this alive. But if I go down… you keep going. Don’t look back.”
She didn’t answer with words. She couldn’t. Watching him die was her worst nightmare. She simply rested her forehead against his shoulder for a second, breathing in his scent. A silent goodbye in case the worst happened.
The minutes seemed to drag.
No one spoke. Breathing was controlled, almost nonexistent. Every sense was locked on the darkness outside.
Then came the first snap.
A broken branch. Close.
Everyone froze.
Another snap. Closer.
Footsteps. Slow. Calculated.
A long shadow slid between the pines. Then another. And another. It wasn’t a group. It was an organized force. Professional. Sent to exterminate.
Eleonora brought her lips to the communicator:
“Movement confirmed at the front of the house. They’re here.”
Vincenzo’s reply came immediately, low and lethal: “How many?”
She swallowed hard.
“A lot. More than we expected. Looks like they brought a small army.”
Lorenzo locked eyes with Mateo in the dark. The smile that spread across his face was pure hunger and anticipation for violence.
“Well…” he murmured, racking the machine gun with a click that sounded like the start of an execution. “Looks like the party’s started.”
A figure dashed between the trees. Another appeared behind a large rock. A third slipped past the window, heading for the back.
And then, without further warning, the front door exploded inward.
Wood shattered like breaking bones. Glass flew like blades.