Chapter 7 - Secrets in the Panic Room
The heavy steel door of the panic room clicked shut, sealing them off from the outside world. The space was compact, reinforced with thick concrete and steel plating, lined with monitors displaying live feeds of the estate's perimeter cameras, and stocked with emergency medical supplies and communication arrays.
The red emergency lighting cast long, dramatic shadows across the room. Outside, the muffled sound of gunfire echoed faintly through the thick walls, but inside, the only sound was Leo’s soft, frightened sniffles.
Isabella gently set Lily down on a cushioned bench, keeping her daughter tucked safely against her side. She turned her attention to Dominic, who was currently setting Leo down gently, whispering quiet, grounding reassurances to the trembling boy.
"You're bleeding," Isabella said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still surging through her veins.
Dominic looked down at his arm. A bullet had grazed his forearm, tearing through his black shirt and leaving a nasty, bleeding gash. He didn't even flinch. "It's nothing."
"It's infected if you don't clean it," Isabella retorted, stepping forward. Without waiting for his permission, she reached into the wall-mounted medical kit, pulled out antiseptic wipes and gauze, and stepped directly into his personal space.
Dominic stiffened, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a sharp, guarded intensity. For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension in the small, enclosed room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Sit down, Mr. Moretti," Isabella instructed, her tone brooking no argument. "Unless you want your arm to go septic while you're busy running a mafia empire."
A slow, humorless smirk touched the corner of Dominic’s lips, though his eyes remained dark and guarded. He slowly sat down on the edge of the bench, watching her every move as she knelt before him.
As she carefully cleaned the blood from his arm, neither of them spoke. But the silence no longer felt hostile; it was charged with a dangerous, undeniable electricity.
Across the room, Leo was leaning against Lily, watching them quietly. "Is the bad man gone, Mrs. Isabella?" Leo asked softly.
"The perimeter is secure, sir," Victor’s voice crackled over the secure intercom speaker mounted on the wall. "The sniper took off on a dirt bike through the ridge. Our men are tracking him, but it was a professional hit. Someone on the inside sold the security rotation."
Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched. His eyes hardened into pure obsidian. "Find out who leaked it. I want every employee, every guard, and every associate vetted by midnight. If there's a rat in this house, I want their name."
"Understood, boss," Victor replied before cutting the feed.
Dominic turned his gaze back to Isabella, who was now wrapping clean white gauze around his forearm, her fingers gentle and precise.
"You aren't screaming," Dominic noted quietly, his deep voice vibrating in the small room. "Most women in your position—most people who walk through those gates—would be hysterical by now."
"Hysteria doesn't protect my daughter, Mr. Moretti," Isabella replied, tying off the bandage and looking straight up into his dark eyes. "Panic doesn't keep Leo safe. I learned a long time ago that crying doesn't fix broken things."
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Dominic’s breath hitched slightly. The words hung in the air, echoing the very sentiment Leo had whispered about his mother.
"Why did you really come to Boston, Isabella?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, his gaze boring into her soul as if searching for hidden motives. "Housekeepers with your kind of education and nerve don't just wander onto the doorstep of Boston's most feared man by accident."
