fiction

Chapter 5 - Blood on the Docks

The romantic candlelight vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the harsh, unforgiving reality of the Chicago underworld.

Alessio stood up so fast his chair screeched against the hardwood floor. The soft, vulnerable man from a moment ago was gone, instantly replaced by the cold, calculating syndicate boss. His eyes turned to shards of black ice.

"How do they know about Leo?" Alessio demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal register. "Only my inner circle knew the boy was born."

"A leak in the hospital registry from six months ago," Dominic said, wiping a smear of blood off his cheek with the back of his hand. "They traced the emergency C-section records. They think they can use the boy to force you to hand over the North Side shipping routes."

Fiona stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs. "The North Side? If they want leverage... they might try to come here."

Alessio looked at her, his jaw clenching so hard muscles ticked in his cheeks. He walked over to the wall panel, punched in a six-digit code, and a hidden compartment popped open, revealing an assault rifle and extra magazines. He strapped a tactical rig over his tuxedo shirt with terrifying efficiency.

"They won't get past the gates," Alessio said coldly. He turned to Dominic. "Double the perimeter guards. Activate the courtyard floodlights. Nobody gets within a mile of this house."

"Already done, Boss. But there's more," Dominic hesitated, looking sideways at Fiona. "The Morettis didn't just send foot soldiers to the docks. They sent a message. They know Fiona is here. They know she's the one taking care of the heir."

Fiona’s breath caught. "Me? How could they possibly know about me?"

"Marcus Vance," Alessio said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "He must have traded information to the Morettis before Dominic caught up with him. He sold you out to save his own skin."

Rage—pure, white-hot rage—flared in Alessio's chest. He had spared Vance a bullet, planning to let him rot in a basement, but the dirty cop had just signed his own death warrant.

"Fiona," Alessio said, stepping close to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. His grip was firm, urgent, but not painful. "You are moving to the basement panic room. Now. Dominic will take you."

"No," Fiona said, her jaw set, stubborn determination flashing in her brown eyes. "I'm not hiding in a hole while people try to kill the baby I saved. I am a trauma nurse, Alessio. If bullets start flying, you're going to need someone who knows how to stop bleeding."

Dominic stared at her in utter disbelief. "Lady, this isn't an emergency room. This is a war zone."

"I don't care," Fiona snapped, pulling away from Alessio's grip. "I'm not leaving Leo, and I'm not leaving you."

Alessio stared at her for a long, intense second. Instead of arguing, a grim, respectful smirk touched the corner of his mouth. He unbuckled a secondary sidearm holster from his tactical belt and strapped it securely around Fiona’s waist, settling a compact Glock 26 against her hip.

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"If anyone comes through that door," Alessio said, his eyes locking onto hers, "you pull the trigger. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Fiona whispered, her hand resting firmly on the grip of the gun.

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