Chapter 7 - The Lighthouse Secret
Alessandro reacted purely on instinct. He threw himself sideways into the mud just as Lorenzo fired.
BANG!
The bullet nicked Alessandro’s shoulder, tearing through his leather jacket. Alessandro rolled behind the trunk of the old oak tree, raising his weapon and firing two rapid shots.
BANG! BANG!
One bullet caught Lorenzo in the thigh. The mob boss screamed in pain, dropping to one knee, but managed to fire another wild shot toward the oak tree before stumbling backward through the ivy archway, fleeing toward the estate’s secondary forest trail.
Alessandro scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp burning pain in his shoulder. His mind was exploding with a whirlwind of emotions.
Isabella and Arya were alive.
Or at least, they had been taken alive three years ago. The thought made his blood run hot with a terrifying, beautiful hope.
“Alessandro!”
Victor Hale burst into the garden, followed by three guards. Victor took in the sight of Russo’s dead body and the blood on Alessandro’s jacket.
“Boss! Are you hit?” Victor asked urgently, rushing forward.
“I’m fine!” Alessandro shouted, grabbing Victor’s tactical vest. “Lorenzo is fleeing toward the north woods! He has a safehouse! He took Isabella and Arya three years ago! They might still be alive!”
Victor’s eyes widened in utter disbelief. “What? Boss, are you sure?”
“Russo confessed before Lorenzo executed him!” Alessandro yelled, his voice shaking with urgency. “Where does Valenti own land up north? Think, Victor!”
Victor’s brow furrowed in intense concentration. “The old lighthouse... near Stony Brook! His father bought a abandoned keeper's cottage on the bluffs twenty years ago! It’s off the grid!”
“Get the cars!” Alessandro ordered. “Now!”
As Victor ran back toward the driveway, Alessandro sprinted toward the main house. He needed to ensure the estate was secure before he left.
He breached the front doors, taking the stairs three at a time until he reached the east wing guest suite.
“Sophia!” he called out, knocking loudly on the heavy door. “It’s me! It’s safe!”
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Sophia stood there, pale and breathless, clutching a heavy iron fireplace poker in her hands. When she saw Alessandro—covered in mud, blood, and rain—she dropped the poker and gasped.
“Alessandro! You’re bleeding!” she cried, stepping forward and touching his wounded shoulder.
“It’s just a graze,” he said quickly, looking past her to Emma, who was sitting safely under the heavy wooden desk, hugging her plush bear tightly.
Alessandro looked back at Sophia, grabbing her hands. “Sophia, listen to me carefully. Lorenzo Valenti’s assault has been crushed. My men have secured the estate. You and Emma are completely safe here.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, seeing the frantic, blazing fire in his eyes.
“Lorenzo fled toward Stony Brook,” Alessandro whispered, his voice cracking with immense emotion. “Russo confessed before he died... Isabella and Arya didn't die in that crash three years ago. Lorenzo kidnapped them. They might be holding them at an old lighthouse.”
Sophia covered her mouth with both hands, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, dear God... alive?”
“I have to go,” Alessandro said. “I have to bring them home.”
Sophia looked into his eyes—eyes that had been dead for three years, now burning with overwhelming purpose. She squeezed his hands tightly.
“Go,” Sophia urged softly, her voice filled with sincere, selfless prayer. “Bring your family home, Alessandro. We will be right here waiting for you.”
Alessandro gave her a fierce, grateful nod. He leaned down, touched Emma’s soft hair once, and then turned, sprinting down the hallway toward the waiting convoy of black SUVs.
As the armored vehicles tore down the coastal highway at breaking speeds, thunder roared across the dark gray sky. Rain poured over the windshields, echoing the frantic beat of Alessandro’s heart.
May you like
Three years of lies. Three years of mourning a grave that was empty.
Alessandro gripped his sidearm tightly in his lap, staring into the stormy distance. “Hold on, Isabella,” he prayed in the silence of his mind. “Hold on, Arya. Daddy is coming.”
