Chapter 4 - The Secret Hidden In The Coat Closet
Dante froze.
The heavy pistol in his hand lowered slightly as he turned his gaze toward the louvered doors of the hallway coat closet.
Anthony immediately raised his weapon, aiming it at the wood.
“Put the gun down, Anthony,” I snapped quietly, stepping in front of him. “It’s a child.”
I walked slowly toward the closet. The whimpering had stopped, replaced by the sound of rapid, panicked breathing.
I knelt on the hardwood floor, keeping myself small and non-threatening.
“Hello?” I said softly. “My name is Claire. I’m a nurse. I help people when they’re hurt. Are you hurt in there?”
Silence.
Then, a tiny voice, barely louder than a whisper, squeaked through the wooden slats.
“Did the bad grandpa leave?”
Dante’s breath hitched. He took a step forward, but I held up my hand, stopping him. He was a massive, intimidating man covered in tattoos and holding a gun. He would terrify the boy.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said gently. “The bad men are gone. It’s just me and some friends who want to help your mommy. Can you come out?”
The doorknob turned slowly.
The door creaked open.
A little boy, no older than six, peeked out from behind a row of winter coats.
He had messy dark hair, huge brown eyes, and tears tracking through the dust on his cheeks. He looked exactly like the childhood photo of Dante. It was uncanny.
“Are you Leo?” I asked with a warm smile.
The boy nodded slowly. He stepped out of the closet, clutching something tightly to his chest.
Dante dropped to his knees. The physical toll of the failing protocol was wreaking havoc on his body—he swayed slightly, his skin gray—but he didn’t care.
He was staring at his grandson.
“Leo,” Dante whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears.
Leo looked at Dante. The boy tilted his head, studying the mafia boss’s face.
“You have my mommy’s eyes,” Leo said innocently.
Dante let out a broken, wet laugh. “I do. I really do.”
“Where did they take your mom, Leo?” Anthony asked, crouching down beside his father, his protective instincts completely overriding his suspicion.
“The bad grandpa took her,” Leo sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “He said Mommy had special blood. He said he needed her to fix his machine.”
My stomach plummeted.
Special blood.
The Romano Protocol wasn’t just about longevity. It was genetic vampirism. The father wasn’t just studying the defective twin—he needed her bone marrow or blood to sustain his own failing, unnaturally prolonged life.
“Did he say where they were going?” I asked.
Leo shook his head. “No. But… but when the bad grandpa was yelling at Mommy, he dropped this. It fell out of his pocket.”
Leo uncurled his small fists.
Resting in his palms was a heavy, antique gold pocket watch.
Dante took it carefully. He turned it over, examining the intricate engraving on the back. His face hardened into a mask of pure, lethal fury.
“I know this watch,” Dante said. “My grandfather gave it to him fifty years ago. It’s a key.”
“A key to what?” Anthony asked.
Dante pressed a small, hidden latch near the crown of the watch.
The back casing popped open.
Inside wasn’t a clock face. It was a small, folded piece of thick, yellowed paper.
Dante unfolded it.
It was an old, perforated train ticket. The faded ink read:
Romano Private Rail — Station 4.
“Station 4,” Anthony breathed. “Dad, that rail line was shut down in the eighties. The tunnels are abandoned.”
“Not all of them,” Dante said, struggling to stand. His legs buckled slightly, and I had to grab his arm to keep him upright.
“Mr. Romano, you are running out of time,” I warned him. My watch told me we had exactly twenty-two minutes left before the chemical collapse reached his heart.
“Then we drive fast,” Dante said.
He looked down at Leo.
“Leo, my name is Dante. I’m your… I’m your grandfather.”
Leo’s eyes widened. “Like the bad one?”
“No,” Dante said fiercely, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s cheek. “Like a good one. And I am going to bring your mother home.”
We rushed back to the SUV. Anthony put Leo in the backseat, strapping him in carefully.
I sat next to Dante, pulling out my medical bag again. I needed to synthesize a stronger stabilizer, but I was missing a crucial binding agent.
“Drive, Anthony!” Dante ordered.
As the SUV peeled away from the curb, Anthony’s phone rang over the car’s Bluetooth system.
He answered it.
“Anthony, it’s Marco,” the security chief’s voice crackled. “We have a massive problem at the estate. Someone just breached the front gates.”
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“Who?” Anthony demanded.
“It’s not Victor or the old man’s goons,” Marco said, sounding completely bewildered. “It’s Michael. Your uncle Michael just walked through the front door, and he’s holding Bianca at gunpoint.”
