I Secretly Put Cameras In My Paralyzed Son’s Room To Catch An Assassin—Until His New Caretaker Closed The Door And Did THIS

I cut the Mercedes’ headlights three hundred yards before the gate, coasting the car onto the gravel shoulder beneath the canopy of weeping willows. The estate sat atop the ocean cliff like a blackened monolith, swallowed by the roar of the gale and the distant crashing of waves against the rocks.

“Perimeter’s compromised,” I muttered, checking my weapon. “He’s running an internal sweep. Dominic has at least six loyal men on the estate payroll. Heavy weapons, body armor.”

Clara reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tactical flashlight with a red lens filter. “Where is Matteo’s bedroom relative to the power grid?”

“Second floor, east wing. Directly above the main library. If they cut main power, the emergency electronic deadbolts on his door lock automatically. The only way in is with a master physical key or C4.”

“Or the exterior maintenance terrace,” Clara noted instantly. “The window.”

I glanced at her. “It’s bulletproof glass. Rated for 7.62 rounds.”

“Not from the inside,” she countered. “If Matteo can reach the latch—”

“He’s paralyzed from the waist down, Clara! He can’t climb to the sill!”

“He has upper body strength, Rossi. I’ve been training his latissimus dorsi and core for three days. You think he’s broken because you see a wheelchair. I see a kid fighting for his life. If we get him to that window, he can unlatch it.”

We moved through the grounds like specters.

The rain drowned out our footsteps as we cleared the lower terrace. We found Marcus near the pool pavilion—alive, but shot twice in the shoulder. I dragged him behind the limestone balustrade, applying direct pressure.

“Boss...” Marcus choked out, rain mingling with sweat on his forehead. “Dominic... he’s cleaning out the sub-level armory and the bearer bonds. He sent two men up to the boy’s room five minutes ago. He said... he said leave no heirs.”

A red fog descended over my vision.

“Stay here, Marcus,” I whispered.

I looked at Clara. “You take the east trellis. Get to the second-story terrace outside Matteo’s room. I’ll go through the ground-floor service tunnels and draw their fire in the rotunda.”

Clara gripped my arm, her fingers sinking into my wet coat with incredible force. “Don’t let your anger get you killed, Rossi. Matteo doesn't need an avenging ghost. He needs a father who walks out of this house alive.”

She released me and vanished into the shadows of the garden, agile and silent as a phantom.