Chapter 19
Nineteen
Harper
I should be afraid of Luca. He murdered a man, but I know it was to protect the family, my family.
I’m trying to accept that I can’t know everything he’s involved in, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
After class, I pick up Zeke, and we grab dinner at the dining hall before bringing him home. Nova accompanies me through all of it, and I wonder how much is want and how much is playing bodyguard because the guys are at practice and she’s been told to babysit me.
Is she working for Dante now, too?
Zeke doesn’t want to be carried home, so I keep a close eye on him as we walk along the sidewalk, making sure that he doesn’t get too far ahead.
It does help to have another set of eyes keeping lookout.
I feel overly paranoid lately, but after the incident at the daycare, how could I not?
The clouds are rolling in fast, and while it’s warm today, the air is suddenly chilled.
We head inside the house and Nova locks the doors, setting the security alarm.
We’ve been more diligent about turning it on when we’re home.
I’ll admit, I’m one of the worst when it came to setting the alarm, always forgetting about it, because I had felt safe.
Nova drops the mail on the kitchen table and sorts through it. “Shit. Ashton got a letter from the Student Conduct Office. That can’t be good.”
“Isn’t that for disciplinary measures? Ashton hasn’t done anything. Did something happen during a game or after?” The guys are always fighting during a hockey game, but that wouldn’t result in any type of letter from the student conduct office, would it?
Nova exhales a heavy sigh. “No, I think I know what it’s about.”
“What?” I glance up at her, concerned.
“The teaching assistant in our Criminology class said some things that were inappropriate. I thought I took care of it, but Ashton had bruised knuckles and the following session in class, the teaching assistant had a bruised jaw. I was hoping I was wrong about those two.”
Grimacing, I glance at the enclosed envelope. It’s impossible to read through the thick packet, the paper folded in thirds.
“Maybe it’s something else?” I’m trying to be hopeful, but if Ashton assaulted a teaching assistant, then it’s grounds for expulsion.
I get Zeke ready for bed, dressing him in his pajamas and reading him a story before tucking him in for the night.
The wind picks up, and I can hear thunder rumbling off in the distance.
Zeke is tired and crabby, and before the story is finished, he’s already fallen asleep.
I give him a kiss goodnight and quietly close the door behind me.
As I stand in the hallway, the sound of breaking glass shattering and crunching under footsteps sends a shiver down my spine.
Did someone just break a window?
The alarm is eerily silent.
I want to be wrong.
The wind roars and is louder than before.
Could the storm have blown out a window?
Nova jumps up from the sofa, her eyes wide, and we exchange a look of apprehension.
She heard it, too—the sound unmistakable.
Fear jolts through my veins. “Go get Zeke,” I order her as I hurry the three feet to the hall closet and retrieve the gun hidden on the top shelf in the back.
Hands trembling, the gun is already loaded, and I cock off the safety, prepared to use it if absolutely necessary. I’m grateful that just last week, for the first time, Ashton and Luca took me to the shooting range.
I’m not a great shot from a distance, but up close, I can at least hit the target in the chest, which is all I need.
I’m not going for a sniper medal. I just need to be able to protect my son and my family.
Footsteps.
It’s definitely not just a storm.
The footsteps are heavy, like boots trudging through mud, careful, precise, quiet, but not silent enough.
Nova opens the bedroom door to Zeke’s room. The man with the snake tattoo appears, holding my sleeping son over one shoulder, and a gun in his other hand.
“Harper,” Nova’s voice catches in her throat.
Zeke hasn’t stirred, and an evil smile sneaks across the tattooed man’s face. “I should thank your husband for murdering my father, Massimo, but I won’t.” He flashes a toothless grin and raises his gun at me. “But I am taking the child with me.”
“Hand over my son,” I growl, gun poised at the tattooed man. I can’t aim for the center of his chest without risking hitting Zeke. There’s too much distance between us.
A week at the shooting range is barely enough time to feel confident in my ability to shoot the assailant and not hurt my boy.
“The way I see it, the Riccis released all those girls, you owe me. The boy will be taken as collateral, and I won’t harm a hair on his head, you have my word unless you or the Riccis come after me or my enterprise.”
I step closer to the madman, my gun poised, my hand slightly trembling, but I pray he doesn’t notice. “You’ll need nothing when you’re dead.”
“On the contrary, you won’t shoot me. Not while I have your little boy in my arms. You’re too weak to pull the trigger, too complacent. You’ll follow my orders if you and your friend want to live.” His gun is poised on me, not Zeke, which is my only advantage.
My life is nothing without Zeke.
I close the distance between us, the gap mere inches, the barrel of my gun almost touching his chest.
“You won’t,” he smirks, convinced I don’t have it in me to pull the trigger.
He’s wrong.
He has to be, because I won’t let anyone take my son from me.
The deafening roar of thunder outside almost drowns out the sharp crack of my gunshot. For a split second, time stands still.
Two shots fire from the assailant’s gun, but I feel nothing.
Only fear.
The smell of burnt gunpowder fills the air as the tattooed man staggers backward, a crimson stain blooming across his chest.
My heart slams wildly against my ribcage. I catch a glimpse of Zeke’s terrified face, his small body shaking as he’s startled awake, caught between confusion and terror.
His scream matches the intensity of the rain as it lashes against the windows, the storm raging as fiercely inside as out.
Nova is right beside me, her voice cuts through the tension, steady yet urgent. “Come here,” she says, grabbing Zeke, sheltering him from the brutality, covering his eyes as she ushers him away from the violence, away from me.
I stand rooted, my mind reeling, the weight of my actions pressing heavily on my shoulders as I watch the man collapse.
I had no choice.
Zeke is safe, but the guilt of not being able to protect him already claws at my conscience.
I kick the gun away from the man’s reach as he gasps hard for breath.
Lightning crackles across the sky, flashing through the windows.
Another boom of thunder rings overhead.
“Who sent you?” I position the gun at the assailant’s forehead, demanding answers.
He coughs and chokes, his fingers itching for the trigger, but the gun isn’t within his grasp. “No one. I run the damn mafia!”
“Not anymore.” I stare down at him and pull the trigger one last time, ensuring his demise.
“No one threatens my son.”