The Intruder
The door creaked open, and the nanny's hand shook as she pointed the gun toward the shadow. Her breath hitched, fear tightening her chest.
Then—
"Don't shoot."
It was him. The boss. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, a streak of blood across his arm, but his eyes were sharp and steady. He pushed the door shut behind him and locked it.
She gasped, lowering the weapon. "You're hurt!"
"It's nothing," he said, though his jaw tightened with pain. He moved toward the child, gently brushing his daughter's hair with his bloodstained fingers, as if grounding himself. For a moment, the ruthless Mafia lord vanished, replaced by a father desperate to keep his world safe.
"Are they gone?" she whispered.
His gaze flicked to her, dark and unreadable. "Not all. Someone betrayed us. They knew exactly where to strike."
Her stomach dropped. A traitor inside the mansion?
He took the gun from her trembling hand, his touch lingering for just a second longer than it should have. "You were ready to protect her. That means more to me than you'll ever know."
She looked at him, torn between fear and something deeper—something forbidden. The memory of their almost-kiss burned fresh in her mind.
Before she could speak, his phone buzzed. He answered in a clipped tone, listening intently. His expression darkened.
"They've taken one of my men," he muttered after hanging up. "And they've left a message."
Her throat went dry. "What message?"
He looked at her, his eyes blazing with both fury and fear.
"They don't just want me… they want you."
---