Chapter 3 Ultrasound Terror

I woke to the sound of typing. My head felt stuffed with cotton, and my mouth was desert-dry. Without opening my eyes, I cataloged my situation: I was lying on my back on what felt like my safe house bed. My prosthetic leg was still attached—a surprising oversight if I was truly a prisoner. There was no restraint on my wrists or ankles.

Either Dante was an amateur at taking captives, or this was a power play.

I opened my eyes to find him sitting across the room at my surveillance setup, scrolling through data on my laptop. He'd put on a black T-shirt that fit him too well to be coincidental. He must have brought a go-bag to the safe house while I was unconscious.

"The great Viper rejoins the living," he said without looking up. "Your security system is impressive. Military-grade encryption, three independent power sources."

"Get away from my computer," I croaked, sitting up slowly.

"Relax. I'm not deleting your files on me." He finally turned to face me. "I'm actually adding to them. The men who attacked us at the hospital weren't just Barzini's. They were working for someone inside my organization too."

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, testing my balance before attempting to stand. "And you know this how?"

"Because I've spent six months playing dead to smoke out a traitor." He tossed me a water bottle, which I caught reflexively. "Drink. The sedative causes dehydration."

I uncapped the bottle, sniffed it subtly, then drank. My head cleared gradually as hydration returned. "You could have just asked me to step out instead of drugging me."

"And miss the opportunity to go through your things?" His smile was infuriating. "I particularly enjoyed the box of surveillance photos under the floorboard. You've been watching me for over a year, not just since my 'accident.' I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I research all my targets thoroughly."

"Including stealing their genetic material?"

I shrugged. "As I said, insurance."

He closed the laptop and stood. "Get dressed. We need to move. I've found something in your surveillance feeds that points to a meeting happening today. Could be related to whoever's trying to kill us both."

I grabbed fresh clothes from a drawer and headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me—a futile gesture, but it made me feel better. As I changed, I examined myself in the mirror. No new marks or injuries. He hadn't taken advantage of my unconsciousness beyond snooping through my intelligence.

When I emerged, Dante was packing weapons into a duffel bag—my weapons.

"Help yourself," I said dryly.

"I'll return what we don't use." He handed me a Glock 19 and two extra magazines. "Your preferred sidearm, I believe."

I checked the gun automatically, surprised he'd correctly identified my favorite. "How did you—"

"The wear pattern on the grip matches your hand size, and it's been recently cleaned. The others were dusty." He zipped the bag closed. "You're not the only one who notices details, Luna."

We left the safe house through a service exit, emerging into gray morning light. Dante led the way to a nondescript sedan parked two blocks away.

"Yours?" I asked as he unlocked it.

"Borrowed from someone who won't report it missing." He opened the passenger door for me—a strangely gentlemanly gesture from a man who'd drugged me hours earlier.

We drove in silence through the awakening city. I kept my hand near my weapon, watching both Dante and our surroundings. Despite our temporary alliance, trust remained a luxury neither of us could afford.

"The meeting is at the old shipyard," he finally said. "According to the communications you intercepted, someone's moving a large shipment through there at noon. Could be drugs, weapons—"

"Or people," I finished his thought. "Like Marina."

He glanced at me. "It's been eighteen months. If they took her—"

"She could still be alive," I insisted. "Marina was valuable. She worked in cybersecurity for banks. Access to financial systems."

Dante's expression changed subtly. "You never mentioned that."

"You never asked what she did for a living."

He drove faster after that, taking back streets to avoid traffic cameras. We parked half a mile from the shipyard and continued on foot, moving silently through abandoned warehouses.

The shipyard was a maze of shipping containers and dilapidated buildings. We climbed to a vantage point on a rusted catwalk, settling in to observe. Through binoculars, I counted six armed guards patrolling the perimeter of what appeared to be the main activity area.

"Professional security," Dante murmured. "Military training. See how they maintain sight lines?"

I nodded. "What's in the containers?"

Before he could answer, three black SUVs rolled into the yard. Men in suits emerged, followed by a familiar figure that made my blood run cold.

"Victor Barzini," Dante whispered, tensing beside me. "And his son, Antonio."

Victor was old-world mafia—elegant, ruthless, traditional. His son was the opposite—flashy, impulsive, and twice as vicious. Both were mortal enemies of the Moretti family.

"Wait," I said, focusing my binoculars on a third man exiting the lead vehicle. "That's Salvatore. Your consigliere."

Dante's face hardened. "Fucking knew it. He's been embezzling for months. Thought I didn't notice."

As we watched, workers began opening one of the shipping containers. My heart nearly stopped when I glimpsed what was inside—not weapons or drugs, but people. Women, mostly, emerging squinting into the daylight.

"Human trafficking," I whispered. "You think—"

"We need a closer look," Dante said grimly.

We descended carefully, using the maze of containers as cover. As we drew nearer, I could hear Salvatore's voice carrying across the yard.

"The merchandise is in excellent condition. These ones have specialized skills—accounting, programming, data security."

My heart hammered against my ribs. This couldn't be coincidence.

"I need to get closer," I whispered.

Dante gripped my arm. "They'll kill you on sight."

"I need to see if Marina is there."

His eyes met mine, and something passed between us—understanding, perhaps. He nodded once. "Create a diversion at the south end. I'll cover you from here."

I moved silently through the labyrinth of containers, placing small explosive charges I'd brought from the safe house. When I was in position, I detonated them remotely.

The explosion wasn't large, but it was enough. Guards ran toward the sound, leaving fewer eyes on the "merchandise." I slipped closer, hiding behind a forklift as the women were herded into a warehouse.

That's when I saw her—or thought I did. A flash of familiar chestnut hair, the same height as Marina. My heart leapt.

I was so focused on following her that I didn't notice the guard until it was too late. A hand clamped over my mouth, and something hard pressed against my back.

"Move and die," a voice growled.

I was marched at gunpoint into the warehouse, where Victor Barzini stood surveying his human cargo. His eyes widened in recognition when he saw me.

"Well, well. Luna Rossi." His accent was pure Sicilian despite decades in America. "The nurse who disappeared with Moretti. Two fugitives for the price of one."

I scanned the faces of the captive women frantically. The one I'd thought was Marina was similar, but not her. My sister wasn't here.

"Where is she?" I demanded. "What did you do with Marina?"

Barzini looked genuinely confused, then amused. "Marina Rossi? Carlo's little plaything?" He laughed. "Is that what this is about?"

"Where is she?" I repeated, struggling against my captor.

"Dead, of course," said Antonio Barzini, stepping forward with a cruel smile. "Carlo delivered her to us when he discovered her snooping through his files. She lasted longer than most under questioning, I'll give her that."

Rage and grief exploded inside me. I drove my elbow backward into my captor's solar plexus, simultaneously stomping down on his instep with my prosthetic leg. The force shattered bones. As he doubled over, I grabbed his gun and fired point-blank into Antonio's shoulder.

Chaos erupted. Guards opened fire as I dove behind a stack of crates. Bullets splintered wood around me as I returned fire, taking down two men before my magazine emptied.

I was trapped, outnumbered, with no clear escape. This was how it would end—not with my revenge complete, but in a filthy warehouse surrounded by the same monsters who had killed Marina.

Then the windows above shattered as Dante crashed through, firing with lethal precision. He moved like a force of nature, each shot finding its mark. I'd heard stories about the Reaper, but seeing him in action was something else entirely—beautiful and terrifying.

"Luna!" he shouted, tossing me a fresh weapon.

I caught it and rejoined the fight, working in tandem with him as if we'd trained together for years. When my path to Barzini was blocked, Dante cleared it. When he was reloading, I covered him.

A bullet grazed my arm, then another caught me in the side. I stumbled but kept firing. Through the haze of pain and gunsmoke, I saw Victor Barzini fleeing toward the exit.

"No!" I screamed, pushing forward.

Antonio was ahead of me, pulling his father toward the door. I raised my weapon, but before I could fire, searing pain tore through my abdomen. I looked down to see blood spreading across my shirt.

I fell to my knees, my gun clattering to the concrete. Through blurring vision, I saw Dante dispatching the remaining guards with mechanical efficiency. The Barzinis escaped through the door as darkness crowded the edges of my consciousness.

Then Dante was beside me, his hands pressing against my wound. "Stay with me, Viper."

"They got away," I gasped. "Marina—they killed her."

"I know," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "But they'll pay for it. I promise you that."

He lifted me carefully, and I bit back a scream as pain lanced through me. As he carried me out of the warehouse, I clutched at his shirt.

"My bag," I managed through gritted teeth.

"We need to get you to a doctor."

"No hospitals," I insisted. "The bag—in my jacket. Get it."

Confusion crossed his face, but he reached into my bloodstained jacket and retrieved a small waterproof pouch. Inside was a folded piece of paper. I pressed it into his hand.

"What's this?" he asked.

I couldn't answer as another wave of pain crashed over me. My hands went protectively to my abdomen—not where the bullet had entered, but lower.

Dante unfolded the paper, his eyes widening as he recognized what it was: an ultrasound image, dated three months earlier.

"You're pregnant?" he whispered, shock evident in his voice.

I managed a weak smile despite the pain. "Insurance policy. More reliable than frozen embryos."

His face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, disbelief, anger, and something else I couldn't identify. Before he could speak, another bullet whizzed past us. A sniper on the rooftop.

Dante swore, shielding my body with his as he returned fire. He half-carried, half-dragged me behind a concrete barrier.

"Hold on," he ordered, examining my wounds. "The baby—"

"Will die if you don't get us out of here," I finished, fighting to stay conscious.

His jaw tightened with resolve. "Nobody's dying today except them."

More shots rang out as Dante fired back at the sniper. I clutched the ultrasound printout, now stained with my blood. The world was fading around me, but I held onto one thought: Barzini had confessed to killing Marina. My quest for vengeance now had a clear target.

"If I die," I whispered, "promise you'll kill them all."

Dante's eyes locked with mine, fierce and determined. "You're not dying. Neither of you." He placed his hand gently over mine, where it rested on my abdomen. "Besides, Viper, what kind of father would I be if I let a Barzini take what's mine?"

As consciousness slipped away, I heard him speaking urgently into a phone, ordering someone to bring a car and a doctor. The last thing I felt was his arms around me, surprisingly gentle for hands that had taken so many lives.

The last thing I heard was his voice, low and dangerous: "Nobody touches my family."

My family. The words followed me into darkness.