Chapter 3 - The Shadow Over the Estate
Before Vincent Moretti could pull the trigger, Constantine disarmed him with a sickening CRACK! of breaking bone!
Moretti shrieked in agony as his gold pistol clattered across the marble floor! Constantine grabbed Moretti by the collar of his suit, slamming his heavy body against the granite pillar with enough force to crack the stone!
BOOM! BOOM!
Gunfire erupted across the grand foyer as Viktor and the Voss guards engaged Moretti’s gunmen! Sparks flew, crystal chandeliers shattered above, and glass rained down like winter hail!
"Get her upstairs! NOW!" Constantine roared over the deafening thunder of gunfire, his voice echoing like thunder through the estate!
Josie didn't hesitate. She scooped Mila up into her arms, pressing the child's head firmly against her shoulder to shield her eyes, and sprinted up the sweeping marble staircase! Bullets whistled past her ears, splintering the wooden handrails, but Josie kept running, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird!
She reached the third-floor master suite, slammed the heavy oak door shut, and threw the iron deadbolt into place.
Mila was shaking violently, her small fingers digging into Josie's sweater, but she didn't cry. She sat on the velvet sofa, her dark eyes glazed over with that familiar, terrible terror.
Josie dropped to her knees in front of the child, taking her cold hands, kissing her forehead over and over. "Look at me, Mila! Look at me, sweetheart! You are safe! I'm right here with you! Look at my eyes!"
Mila looked up, her lower lip trembling. "Papa..." she whimpered softly. "They... they hurt Mamma like this..."
Josie’s chest squeezed with unbearable pain. "What happened to your mother, Mila?"
"Bad men... with guns," Mila whispered, a single tear finally spilling over her long eyelashes. "In the car... Mamma covered me... then she went to sleep and didn't wake up. Papa fought them... but Mamma was gone."
The tragic truth settled heavily over Josie's heart like a lead shroud. Mila hadn't stopped speaking because she was mute; she had stopped speaking because her young mind had associated her mother's violent death with the terrifying noise of the world. She had shut the world out to protect herself from the memory.
Below them, the sound of gunfire gradually died down, replaced by the heavy, deliberate footsteps of a single man ascending the stairs.
A soft, rhythmic knock sounded against the oak door of the master suite.
"Josie," Constantine’s voice called out from the hallway, quiet and steady. "It is safe. Open the door."
Josie stood up, unlocked the heavy deadbolt, and pulled the door open.
Constantine stood in the threshold. His coat was gone; his white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, stained with crimson blood at the cuffs. A fresh graze cut across his cheekbone, but his dark eyes were completely calm. Behind him, Viktor and his men were already clearing the corridor, carrying away the disarmed, groaning intruders.
He looked past Josie to his daughter sitting on the sofa.
"She told me," Josie whispered softly, stepping out into the hallway, closing the door halfway so Mila couldn't hear. "She told me what happened to her mother."
Constantine stilled. He closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing second, letting out a long, heavy breath that seemed to carry the weight of three lifetimes of grief.
"Her mother, Elena, was the light of my life," Constantine said quietly, his voice raspy with emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. "When Moretti’s men ambushed our convoy eight months ago, Elena threw herself over Mila. She saved our daughter's life, but I could not save hers. Ever since that night, I have burned this city to the ground hunting down everyone responsible."
He looked at Josie, his dark eyes filled with a raw, desperate vulnerability that shocked her to her core.
"I built this fortress to keep her safe from my world," Constantine murmured. "I hired bodyguards, nanny after nanny, specialists from London and Zurich. But none of them could reach her. Until she sat in a dirty pub in Dorchester and ate a grilled cheese sandwich made by a woman who cared more about a hungry child than her own survival."
Josie stepped closer to the formidable crime boss, reaching out without thinking, resting her hand gently against his arm.
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"She doesn't need a fortress, Constantine," Josie said softly, using his first name for the very first time. "She needs her father. And she needs to know that the world isn't just full of guns and dark rooms."
Constantine looked down at Josie’s hand resting on his sleeve. The ice that had encased his heart for eight brutal months began to crack, shedding tears he had sworn he would never shed again.
