Scars of the Syndicate

Sirens wailed across the Moretti compound as automatic security shutters slammed down over the lower-level windows.

Nora had been in the kitchen preparing lunch when the explosion rocked the western perimeter wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed from the courtyard.

"Stay here, Mrs. Moretti!" the armed guard stationed near the pantry yelled, drawing his weapon and rushing toward the back patio doors.

Instead of hiding, Nora’s maternal instinct overrode every shred of self-preservation. Leo was in the glass-enclosed solarium on the west wing—the exact place where the explosion had originated.

"Leo!" she screamed, sprinting down the corridor as the air filled with the sharp, acrid smell of sulfur and cordite.

Smoke billowed through the archway of the west hall. Through the haze, two masked men in tactical gear were moving swiftly through the breached security doors, carrying heavy duffel bags and sidearms.

And in the center of the solarium, cowering behind a marble planter, was little Leo, crying hysterically.

One of the intruders—Marco, recognizable by the jagged scar on his wrist—stepped toward the terrified boy, grabbing him by the arm. "Come along, little prince. Uncle Marco is taking you on a trip."

"Let him go!" Nora screamed.

She didn't think. She grabbed a heavy brass fireplace poker from the hallway rack and charged down the hall, hurling herself directly at the intruder with the blinding fury of a mother protecting her cub.

Marco turned just in time. The heavy butt of his pistol struck Nora across the shoulder, sending her crashing hard against the marble wall, the wind knocked completely out of her lungs.

"Nora!"