Chapter 5 - The Silent Intruder
Three nights later, a thick, rolling fog blanketed the sprawling hills surrounding the Moretti estate.
Inside our cottage by the gardens, Mama was fast asleep in her room after a long day of organizing the estate’s autumn inventory. In the small guest bedroom, I lay tucked beneath a warm patchwork quilt, clutching my stuffed rabbit tightly against my chest, dreaming of kindergarten classrooms and finger paints.
Outside, the perimeter security system hummed silently in the dark.
Suddenly, a soft, electronic blip flickered on the master security console in the main mansion’s basement control room.
Rocco, who was pulling the graveyard shift with two junior guards, leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the glowing monitor. “Wait... look at sector four. Near the old greenhouse.”
On the screen, a thermal heat signature flickered briefly—barely the size of a stray fox or a raccoon—before disappearing into the dense shrubbery.
“Probably just wildlife,” one of the junior guards muttered, sipping a paper cup of cold coffee. “The deer from the hills always trigger the outer motion sensors.”
“Don't be an idiot,” Rocco snapped, standing up and reaching for his assault rifle. “Nothing is a coincidence in our line of work. Miller, check the south gate monitors. I’m taking a team out to sweep sector four.”
What Rocco didn't know was that sector four was a diversion.
While the security team mobilized toward the southern perimeter, a silent shadow dressed head-to-toe in matte black tactical gear scaled the northern brick wall—the exact section where the ivy grew thickest, masking the thermal tripwires.
Viktor Vance moved like a ghost.
He didn't carry heavy firearms that would set off metal detectors or acoustic sensors; instead, he carried a silenced compact crossbow and a sleek tactical breaching kit. His target wasn't Alejandro Moretti tonight.
The Sicilian syndicate had realized something crucial: Alejandro was nearly impossible to reach while hoarded inside his fortified mansion. But Alejandro cared about one thing above all else now—the little maid’s daughter who had saved his life.
Viktor crept across the dew-soaked lawn, his boots making zero sound against the grass. He sidestepped the automated floodlights, slipping through the shadows until he reached the back porch of our cottage.
With surgical precision, he pulled a small glass-cutter from his utility belt, scoring a silent circle around the latch of the kitchen window.
Click.
The window swung open inward. Viktor hoisted his lean frame over the sill, stepping silently onto the linoleum floor.
He pulled a pair of night-vision goggles down over his eyes, scanning the dark hallway.
Room one: empty.
Room two: empty.
Room three: a child’s bedroom.
Viktor pushed the door open with two fingers. There, sleeping soundly in a small white twin bed, hugging a stuffed rabbit, was me.
Viktor smiled coldly beneath his black balaclava. He pulled a small, damp rag soaked in chloroform from his pouch, stepping toward the bed.
“Target acquired,” he whispered into his comm-link.
Just as his hand reached out toward my face, the bedroom door clicked open behind him.
May you like
A cold, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway, cutting through the silence like a razor blade.
“I wouldn't touch her if I were you.”
