Chapter 6 - The Shadow in the Hallway
Naomi instinctively stepped back into the shadow of the tall mahogany bookshelves, pulling her medical tablet close to her chest.
Viktor, the hulking chief of security who had served the Moretti family for fifteen years, stepped quietly into the study. He closed the heavy oak door behind him with a soft click.
Isabella was resting in her velvet armchair near the fireplace, her eyes closed as if asleep. But the moment Viktor entered the room, Isabella’s fingers twitched against the armrest, and her breathing hitched slightly.
“Is she asleep?” Viktor asked, his voice dropping into a harsh, grating whisper.
Naomi stepped out from the shadows, her heart hammering against her ribs like a drum. “She’s resting, Viktor. What do you want? This is the private residential wing. You’re not scheduled for patrol until midnight.”
Viktor turned slowly, his rugged, scarred face devoid of its usual stoic professionalism. Instead, a cold, predatory sneer twisted his lips.
“I saw that look you gave me earlier at the security terminal, nurse,” Viktor said, taking a slow step toward her. “You’re too smart for your own good. Just like Vivian was too ambitious. Some people don't know when to keep their heads down and collect their paychecks.”
Naomi’s blood turned to ice water. Viktor. He was the insider. He was the one who had given Vivian the security access codes to the music room, hoping to destabilize Luca’s leadership from within so he could carve out his own syndicate faction.
“You sold out the family,” Naomi said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “You let Vivian try to frame me, and all along you were working with the Romanos.”
Viktor let out a harsh, humorless laugh, pulling a silenced automatic pistol from beneath his coat. “Business is business, little nurse. Luca’s era is over. The Romanos are taking the docks tonight, and by morning, this entire estate will belong to me.”
He raised the pistol, leveling the black barrel directly at Naomi’s chest.
“And unfortunately for you, you’ve got a habit of walking in on conversations you shouldn't be hearing.”
Naomi closed her eyes for a split second, bracing herself for the impact.
Clack-clack.
The sharp, rhythmic notes of the antique piano rang out suddenly across the quiet room—two high notes, followed by a fierce, prolonged low chord.
No. Stop.
Viktor spun around, cursing, and pointed the gun toward Isabella, who had forced herself out of her armchair and was slamming her left hand onto the piano keys with desperate, furious strength.
“Shut that old witch up!” Viktor snarled, taking a step toward the piano.
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That single moment of distraction was all Naomi needed.
With a surge of pure adrenaline, Naomi lunged forward, grabbing a heavy brass desk lamp and smashing it with all her might across the back of Viktor’s skull.
