Chapter 6 Baby Carriage Bomb

"Are you certain this is necessary?" I asked, watching Dante meticulously arrange blocks of C4 in the false bottom of our daughter's custom-made carriage. "She's only three months old."

"Which makes her the perfect age to start learning family traditions," he replied without looking up from his work. His fingers moved with practiced precision, connecting wires to a detonator disguised as an innocent-looking toy attachment. "Besides, after the hospital incident, we can't be too careful."

I couldn't argue with his logic. Since Marina's dramatic arrival, the Barzini family had intensified their efforts against us. Three assassination attempts in three months had left us both on edge and even more dangerous than before. Parenthood hadn't softened us—it had sharpened our lethal instincts to a razor's edge.

"There," Dante said with satisfaction, closing the hidden compartment. "Enough explosives to level a city block, and the carriage still has room for diapers."

I inspected his handiwork, impressed despite myself. "Detonation range?"

"Remote trigger works up to half a mile." He produced what appeared to be a colorful baby rattle. "Three clicks activates it. Two to disarm."

"And if she gets hold of it?" I raised an eyebrow.

Dante smiled, the expression both tender and terrifying. "Baby-proof. Needs adult grip strength to activate. I tested it."

Our daughter chose that moment to announce her awakening with a demanding cry from the nursery. I went to retrieve her, my prosthetic leg clicking softly against the hardwood floors of Dante's—our—penthouse.

Marina had her father's dark hair and my green eyes. At three months, she already showed signs of a formidable personality, rarely crying but making her needs known with an intensity that amused both of us. I lifted her from the crib, checking her diaper before carrying her back to the living room.

"Someone's hungry," I announced, settling into a chair to feed her.

Dante paused in his weapons preparation to watch us, his expression unreadable. These quiet moments still felt surreal—the Viper and the Reaper, playing house with their infant daughter while planning the systematic destruction of their enemies.

"The meeting's in two hours," he said after a while. "Victor finally agreed to discuss terms."

I switched Marina to my other breast, adjusting my position. "You think he's sincere?"

"I think he's desperate. We've taken out three of his major distribution centers and his money launderer. Antonio's getting reckless, making mistakes. Victor knows they can't win a prolonged war."

"It could be a trap."

"Of course it's a trap." Dante smiled coldly. "That's why we're bringing reinforcements." He nodded toward the carriage with its deadly cargo.

When Marina finished nursing, I handed her to Dante while I prepared myself for the meeting. My wardrobe had evolved since motherhood—still elegant but modified to accommodate various weapons and quick access to my prosthetic's hidden features. Today I chose a navy blue dress with a slit that allowed reach to my leg's compartments, paired with a light jacket that concealed a shoulder holster.

Dante dressed Marina in an outfit I'd specially designed—adorable pink overalls with bulletproof fabric sewn into the lining. He cooed to her as he worked, speaking in Italian as he often did when they were together. For a man who had killed without remorse, who had orchestrated the downfall of countless enemies, he was surprisingly gentle with our daughter.

"Ready?" he asked when we were all prepared.

The meeting location was neutral ground—an upscale restaurant closed for a private event. Victor had agreed to bring only two guards; Dante would do the same. We both knew these terms would be violated, which was part of the plan.

Gabriel drove us, with another car of Dante's men following at a discreet distance. Marina dozed in her carriage between us, blissfully unaware that her comfortable ride contained enough explosives to vaporize anyone who threatened her.

"Remember," Dante said as we approached the restaurant, "if anything goes wrong—"

"Get Marina out and trigger the device," I finished. "I know the plan."

He reached over and squeezed my hand. "After this, we end it. One way or another."

The restaurant was elegant but strategic—multiple exits, large windows for our backup to observe, kitchen access for emergency evacuation. Victor Barzini was already seated at a center table when we entered, flanked by four men despite the agreed-upon two.

"Moretti," Victor nodded stiffly. "Ms. Rossi." His eyes fell to the carriage, a flicker of something—perhaps surprise that we'd bring an infant, perhaps calculation—crossing his face.

"Victor," Dante replied smoothly, taking a seat across from him while I positioned Marina's carriage beside us. I remained standing, one hand on the handle, the other casually near my thigh where I could access my prosthetic's weapons.

"You brought the child," Victor observed. "Bold choice."

"Family business should include family," Dante said, his tone pleasant but his eyes cold. "Where's Antonio? I thought he'd want to be part of this discussion."

"My son has other matters to attend to." Victor's expression suggested Antonio's absence wasn't voluntary. "Shall we get to business?"

As the men began their negotiation dance, I scanned the restaurant. Two more of Barzini's men were poorly concealed by the kitchen doors. Another sat at the bar, pretending to be staff. Six total that I could see, likely more outside.

Marina stirred in her carriage, making small sounds that drew Victor's attention again.

"Beautiful child," he commented, his eyes calculating. "She has your eyes, Ms. Rossi."

"Thank you," I replied evenly. "She has her father's temperament, though. Doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Dante smiled coldly at the implied threat. "As I was saying, Victor, your operations in the harbor are finished. You can either withdraw completely or we continue dismantling your organization piece by piece."

Victor's face flushed with anger. "You overestimate your position, Moretti. One successful attack on my shipping operation doesn't end decades of business."

"Three successful attacks," Dante corrected. "With a fourth scheduled for tonight, unless we reach an agreement here."

Marina began to fuss more insistently. I rocked the carriage gently, my fingers brushing against the rattle-shaped detonator in my pocket. The Barzini men tensed at the baby's cries, clearly uncomfortable with her presence. Good. Discomfort led to mistakes.

"Perhaps the child needs some air," Victor suggested. "One of my men could escort Ms. Rossi outside."

"That won't be necessary," I said, lifting Marina from the carriage. "She just wants to see what's happening."

I held our daughter against my shoulder, positioning myself so I could see all the Barzini men while keeping Marina's face away from them. She quieted immediately, her curious eyes taking in the tense scene.

"As I was saying," Dante continued, "you have until midnight to agree to our terms. Otherwise—"

The restaurant's front door burst open, and Antonio Barzini stormed in, flanked by three more armed men. Victor's expression flashed with anger and something like fear.

"Antonio," he hissed. "I told you to stay away."

"I'm not missing this," Antonio snarled, his eyes fixed on Dante. "Not after what he did to my men."

The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. I shifted Marina in my arms, positioning her so I could quickly shield her if necessary. Dante remained seated, seemingly unconcerned by the newcomers.

"Antonio," he greeted coldly. "I was just telling your father how this could end without further bloodshed. But since you're here..." He smiled, the expression chilling. "Perhaps you'd like to explain to him why you sent men to kill my child."

Victor's head snapped toward his son. "What is he talking about?"

Antonio's face contorted with rage. "The Moretti line needs to end! All of it!"

I caught Dante's subtle nod toward Gabriel, who quietly slipped out the back. Phase one of our contingency plan was in motion.

"Your son," Dante continued to Victor, "ordered an attack on a hospital. Endangered innocent civilians. Broke every code our families have lived by for generations."

Victor's expression had turned thunderous. "Is this true, Antonio?"

"The old codes are dead, Papa!" Antonio shouted. "Moretti was playing dead for months, undermining us, and you did nothing!"

While the Barzinis were distracted by their family drama, I carefully set Marina back in her carriage, positioning it for a quick exit toward the kitchen. I caught Dante's eye, and he gave an imperceptible nod.

"Perhaps," Dante said, his voice dangerously calm, "we should let the next generation settle this. Antonio clearly has strong feelings about how things should be handled."

Victor looked trapped between anger at his son and suspicion of Dante. "What are you suggesting?"

"A more private conversation." Dante stood slowly. "Just Antonio and me. You and Ms. Rossi can wait with the child."

Antonio sneered. "Afraid to talk business in front of your woman, Moretti?"

I smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm part of the business. But someone needs to mind the baby." I rocked the carriage gently, my hand slipping the detonator rattle from my pocket and attaching it to the handle—perfectly positioned for Marina to reach if she wanted.

Victor observed this with narrowed eyes. "The child stays here."

"Of course," I agreed easily. "Marina loves her grandfather Victor, doesn't she?" I cooed to the baby, the threat implicit in my words.

Dante and Antonio moved to a corner table, their guards creating a perimeter around them. I remained with Victor, one hand on the carriage, engaging him in seemingly pleasant conversation while monitoring every movement in the restaurant.

"She's a beautiful child," Victor said again, his eyes on Marina. "It's a shame she was born into this life."

"This life chose us," I replied. "As it chose you."

He studied me with new interest. "You're not what I expected when I heard Moretti had taken up with a nurse."

"People rarely are what they seem." I rocked the carriage gently. "Your son, for instance. Did you know what he was planning at the hospital?"

Victor's jaw tightened. "Antonio makes... impulsive decisions."

"Decisions that could start a war you can't win."

"You're very confident, Ms. Rossi."

I smiled. "I've earned the right to be."

At the other table, Antonio's voice had risen. I couldn't make out the words, but his face was flushed with anger. Dante remained calm, his posture relaxed despite the tension radiating from everyone else in the room.

Marina chose that moment to reach for the colorful rattle attached to her carriage. Her tiny fingers wrapped around it, and she shook it experimentally.

Victor's eyes widened slightly as he watched her play with it. "She's quite coordinated for her age."

"She takes after her father," I replied, my heart racing as Marina continued to shake the rattle. Though Dante had assured me it required adult strength to activate, watching my three-month-old play with a detonator was testing my composure.

Suddenly, shouting erupted from Dante's table. Antonio was on his feet, hand moving toward his jacket. In the same instant, Dante's voice cut through the chaos.

"Luna! Now!"

I grabbed Marina from the carriage and moved with practiced efficiency toward the kitchen exit. Behind me, I heard Victor barking orders to his men. Two of them moved to intercept me.

"The carriage!" Dante shouted, drawing his weapon.

Understanding instantly, I pulled the rattle detonator from my pocket and clicked it three times in rapid succession. Then I pushed through the kitchen doors, shielding Marina with my body as the explosion rocked the building.

The blast was controlled but devastating—precisely engineered to focus its force toward the dining area while leaving the kitchen relatively unscathed. Heat washed over us as I carried Marina through the kitchen and out the service entrance where Gabriel waited with a car.

"Boss?" he asked anxiously.

"Following protocol," I replied, securing Marina in the car seat he'd prepared. "Get her to the safe house. I'm going back in."

"Luna—" Gabriel began to protest.

"That's an order," I cut him off, checking my weapons. "Protect her with your life."

I didn't wait for his response, already heading back toward the burning restaurant. The explosion had created the perfect cover—chaos, smoke, screaming bystanders. Through the haze, I searched for Dante.

I found him in what remained of the dining room, standing over Antonio Barzini's bleeding form. Victor was nowhere to be seen.

"The old man got away," Dante said without looking up. "Four of his men didn't."

Antonio glared up at us, blood bubbling from his lips. "You won't... find him..."

I crouched beside him, pulling a syringe from my prosthetic. "Want to bet?"

Fear flashed in his eyes. "What is that?"

"Truth serum," I lied, injecting him smoothly. "Now, tell us where your father's panic room is located."

As Antonio's resistance crumbled under the combined effects of blood loss and the drug, he revealed not only Victor's likely location but the access codes to the Barzini compound's security system. Dante recorded everything on his phone, his expression growing more satisfied with each revelation.

When we had what we needed, Dante looked at me. "Finish it?"

I thought of the hospital, of Antonio's men threatening my child, of Marina—both my sister and my daughter. "With pleasure."

Sirens wailed in the distance as we left through the back, leaving behind a burning restaurant and Antonio Barzini's cooling body. The explosion would be attributed to a gas leak, the deaths to unfortunate circumstance. By the time investigators sorted through the evidence, we would have completed our mission.

"Marina?" Dante asked as we slipped into the waiting second car.

"With Gabriel at safe house three," I replied. "She enjoyed playing with the rattle."

His laugh was genuine, a rare sound that still surprised me when I heard it. "That's my girl. Already helping with the family business."

As we sped through the night toward the Barzini compound, I found myself smiling. Our daughter's first explosion—a milestone no parenting book covered, but one that filled me with a twisted sort of pride nonetheless.

"Next time," I said, checking my weapons, "I get to design the exploding baby toy."

Dante reached over and squeezed my hand, his eyes gleaming with dark humor and something deeper. "Deal. But I'm handling the preschool applications. I hear they're absolute murder."