Where's my son?

Where's my son?
Isla’s POV

Horror struck like a freight train, slamming into my chest and stealing my breath as Maria's twisted confession echoed in the nursery's stifling air. "Paolo’s a plant. Luca’s already mine." Her body hit the floor with a sickening thud, her neck snapping under Angelo's unyielding grip—ruthless, efficient, the sound like cracking bone in a slaughterhouse. No remorse flickered in his eyes, only a feral satisfaction mingled with the dawning terror that her words had ignited. The twin—our twin, Luca's mirror image—wailed louder in Angelo's arms, his tiny lungs heaving as if sensing the apocalypse unfolding around him. Identical cries, identical faces, but one was safe... or was he?

"Out—now!" Sofia snarled, her voice a whip crack over the distant thrum of approaching choppers. She wiped Harlan's blood from her knife with a savage swipe on her pants, her thigh wound already soaking through the makeshift bandage, but she didn't falter. Her green eyes, sharp as shattered emeralds, scanned the room for threats, landing on the monitors flickering with static—cameras going dark one by one. "Sirens incoming. They've got Luca. Move your asses!"

Angelo thrust the twin into my arms, his hands rough but careful, the baby's warmth seeping through my jacket like a lifeline amid the carnage. "Protect him, Isla," he growled, his voice low and commanding, eyes locking onto mine with that intense, possessive fire that always grounded me in chaos. The twin's cries muffled against my chest as I clutched him close, his small body trembling, smelling of formula and sterile lab air—a stark contrast to Luca's familiar baby scent of lotion and home. My heart fractured at the thought: Luca, our miracle, left in Paolo's care. Paolo, who we'd trusted with our lives. If he was a traitor...

We exploded out of the nursery, Angelo leading with his Glock raised, Sofia covering our rear as bullets zipped past like angry hornets. The estate's grand halls, once symbols of Romano opulence, now reeked of gunpowder and death—faded tapestries shredded, marble floors slick with blood from the guards we'd dropped. My boots slipped on the gore, but I caught myself, the twin's weight anchoring me. "How long has Paolo been with us?" I gasped to Angelo as we rounded a corner, my free hand firing blindly at a shadow darting from a side room. The shot connected, the guard crumpling with a grunt.

"Years," Angelo bit out, his jaw clenched like iron, vaulting over a toppled chandelier that crashed behind us in a shower of crystal shards. "Loyal through the Kovacs war, the Marchelli purge. If he's flipped... Dio, I'll rip him apart myself." His voice cracked with betrayal, the king unraveling at the seams—not from fear, but from the poison of doubt Maria had injected with her dying breath.

Marco's voice crackled urgently in our earpieces, his sniper perch compromised but still holding. "Boss, extract now! Choppers two mikes out—Nest blackhawks, armed to the teeth. Monastery feeds show smoke, flames... Paolo's van's torched. No visual on the kid. Get to the east gate; I'll cover from the ridge!"

My stomach lurched, bile rising hot and bitter. Flames? At the monastery? Luca was there—our sanctuary, fortified with traps and tech, but if Paolo had sold us out... I envisioned it: our baby, alone in his crib, reaching for me with chubby fists while traitors closed in. "Faster!" I urged, my voice breaking as we burst through a servants' door into the fog-choked gardens. Thorns clawed at my legs through my pants, drawing blood, but pain was nothing compared to the vise squeezing my heart. The twin quieted slightly, his tiny head burrowing against my neck as if seeking solace in a stranger's arms. He felt so much like Luca—the same weight, the same soft sighs between sobs—that tears blurred my vision.

Sofia cursed behind me, her limp worsening as she fired over her shoulder, dropping another pursuer with a precise shot to the knee. "They're herding us!" she shouted, her breath ragged. "Like sheep to slaughter. If Paolo's Nest, he knows every safehouse, every code. We're blind!"

"Not blind," Angelo countered, his tone steel despite the sweat beading on his brow. We reached the hidden tunnel—dank, narrow, a relic from Angelo's boyhood games of hide-and-seek turned deadly serious. The air inside was thick with mold and earth, the walls closing in like a grave. Our footsteps echoed, amplified by the twin's whimpers. "Marco, rally the lieutenants—flank the monastery. If Luca's gone, track him. No mercy."

Static hissed, then Marco's grim reply: "Copy. But boss... cams caught a glimpse before blackout. Paolo fighting—Nest ops overwhelming. He might not be the plant. Or... hell, maybe a double-agent play."

Doubt swirled thicker than the fog as we emerged from the tunnel into the driveway, the van's headlights cutting through the mist like accusatory beams. Sirens wailed closer now, a symphony of doom blending with the rotors' thunder overhead. Angelo slid behind the wheel, engine roaring to life as Sofia slammed the passenger door, her face ashen from blood loss. I cradled the twin in the back, Marco jumping in beside me, rifle at the ready.

"Talk to me, amore," Angelo demanded, glancing in the rearview as he floored it, gravel spraying like shrapnel. His eyes held mine—dark, tormented, but fierce with love. "You holding?"

I nodded, though my arms trembled around the baby. "For Luca. For them." The twin—nameless, a ghost of our son—gurgled softly, his fingers tangling in my hair. "What if Maria was lying? Paolo wouldn't—"

"Lies or truth, we end this," Angelo said, his voice a vow, weaving through the winding roads with reckless precision. The choppers' spotlights swept the hills, narrowly missing us as fog provided merciful cover. Sofia leaned back, her head lolling, but she forced words through gritted teeth: "Maria played long game. Harvested your DNA, Angelo. Built an army of heirs. This twin? Just the start. Luca's the prize—untainted bloodline."

My mind raced, piecing horrors: Project Phoenix, accelerated gestation, Maria's "resurrection" into a vengeful queen. Had she stolen Angelo's samples during their marriage? Or worse, after the fire? The thought curdled my blood. "Alessandro... he's older. Was he part of this?"

Marco shook his head, checking his mag. "Kid's natural-born, from Maria's first pregnancy. But the Nest twisted everything after. Groomed him as bait."

The monastery loomed ahead, flames dancing like demons against the dawn sky, black smoke choking the air. My heart shattered anew—ancient stones crumbling under fire, our safe haven violated. Figures in black tactical gear swarmed the grounds, exchanging fire with... who? Remnants of our team? Paolo's van lay overturned, bullet-riddled, flames licking its undercarriage.

"Ambush confirmed," Marco muttered, scope to his eye. "Nest ops—dozen strong. No sign of Luca or Paolo."

Angelo swerved off-road, crashing through brush to a flanking position. "Weapons hot. Isla, stay with the twin—cover from here."

"No," I snapped, the maternal fire igniting. "Luca's in there. I'm going."

He hesitated, then nodded—knowing better than to argue with a mother's wrath. We bailed out, taking cover behind boulders as gunfire erupted. I shielded the twin with my body, pistol barking in my hand, dropping a commando who strayed too close. Sofia, despite her wounds, moved like a shadow, knife flashing in close quarters, her grunts of pain mixing with enemies' screams.

Angelo charged ahead, a force of nature, his shots precise and lethal. "Luca!" he bellowed, voice raw over the din. "Where's my son?!"