HE COMES AT NIGHT

prologue

The night was still. Jessica cradled Alvaro in her arms, gently rocking him as his small body slowly relaxed into sleep. The weight of his warmth was the only thing anchoring her mind, scattered as it was. It was nearly midnight, and the city outside their apartment seemed as peaceful as ever. This high-security complex was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place where Armando's dark world couldn't reach them. Or so she had believed.

Alvaro's soft cries had finally faded, and she laid him down in his crib with a soft kiss to his forehead. She lingered for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. As she turned to leave the room, a creeping chill tightened around her spine. Something was off.

The apartment was silent, but a strange awareness settled in her. Instincts honed by years of living in Armando’s world kicked in. She paused, listening, her pulse quickening as the realization sank in—someone had broken in.

Jessica’s heart raced as she made her way back to Alvaro’s crib, gently pressing the hidden button beside the door. The mechanism engaged without a sound, and she exhaled, knowing her son was now locked in a safe space no one could enter. At least he was protected.

The faint outline of a shadow shifted near the kitchen. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She steeled herself, her breath shallow, and inched toward the living room, trying to keep her steps quiet. But before she could react, a figure lunged at her from the darkness.

The force knocked the breath from her lungs as she hit the floor hard, her chest slamming against the sharp edge of the coffee table. She gasped, pain radiating through her ribs. A cry escaped her lips, but she bit it down, forcing herself to think through the fear. She needed to survive this.

She spotted the gun, tucked between the cushions of the living room sofa, a small comfort that Armando had insisted she always keep nearby. Her fingers scrambled toward it as the masked intruder loomed over her, but before she could grip the weapon, the deafening crack of a gunshot echoed through the room.

The man’s body jerked and crumpled to the floor. Stunned, Jessica blinked through her haze of pain and terror, and then she saw him. Dante. He stepped forward, lowering his weapon, his face calm, almost mechanical in the aftermath of violence.

He reached out a hand to help her up, but she couldn’t move. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She had witnessed things like this before—being married to Armando meant constant proximity to danger—but this was different. This was after Alvaro was born. After she had convinced herself they could live a normal life. She had never been this close to death with her son just a few steps away.

Anger, sharp and unrelenting, surged through her veins, cutting through the fog of fear. She slapped Dante’s hand away and stood on her own, her glare burning into him.

"Tell your boss to go f**k himself," she spat, her voice shaking with fury.

She didn't need to say his name. Dante knew exactly who she meant, Armando. Her husband. The man who claimed to love her, but whose world kept dragging her deeper into this nightmare.