The Unborn’s Apocalyptic Warning Chapter 03
With Salvatore’s tacit approval, I grew bolder.
He might not have cared what I did, but the budget wasn’t limitless.
My previous shopping sprees had already burned through a significant chunk. The remaining construction costs and supply purchases were still a major problem.
Salvatore had been extremely busy lately, and I felt guilty constantly asking him for money—especially since, from his perspective, I was having a breakdown.
My eyes drifted to the walk-in closet. An entire wall of jewels and accessories. Hundreds of designer bags.
“Mom! That ruby you bought at the auction! In the apocalypse, that thing could be traded for two whole crates of antibiotics! Sell it! Sell it!”
I sighed and had someone organize every valuable item I owned.
Back when the world was normal, sure, I could collect these things. But with the end coming, supplies were worth infinitely more.
I had the butler sell all the jewelry and luxury goods. To my surprise, they fetched an enormous sum.
Leaving the family logistics company, I ran into Fiona again—that insufferable woman.
She was at the café across the street, having afternoon tea with her little posse.
The second she spotted me coming out in plain clothes, her eyes lit up brighter than a searchlight.
“See? I told you! Something huge is going on with the Genovese family! Catalina’s selling her jewelry—she’s getting ready to run!”
She said it loud enough to make sure I heard every word.
I didn’t spare her a glance. Every minute counted now.
With the cash in hand, I ordered two industrial-grade high-capacity generators and several hundred barrels of diesel.
The stuff reeked. The moment it was delivered to the villa’s garage, the neighbors sent someone over.
Property management arrived with a squad of security guards, firmly demanding I remove the fuel drums. Safety hazard, they said.
“Absolutely not! Nobody touches my diesel!”
I planted myself in front of those barrels, immovable. They weren’t about to manhandle a pregnant woman.
Without power, how would we survive? How would the cold storage run? How would we keep the electric grid going?
“Mrs. Reyes, if you won’t comply, we’ll have no choice but to call the police.” The property manager looked miserable. They had no idea I was connected to the Genovese family—I’d hidden most of my information when purchasing this property.
That was when a black Maybach pulled up to the gate.
Salvatore was home.
He glanced at me, still fuming, then at the property manager drenched in sweat.
“What’s going on?”
The manager looked like he’d found his savior. “Sir, your wife has stored a large quantity of diesel in the garage. It’s against regulations—major safety hazard.”
Salvatore rubbed the bridge of his nose, then walked over and gently pulled me behind him.
“I have a use for the fuel. I’ll arrange certified professionals to install explosion-proof containment. If anything happens, full liability is on me.”
The manager blinked, but with an army of bodyguards standing behind me, he didn’t dare press the issue. He slunk away.
I stared at Salvatore’s broad back, my eyes stinging.
He turned around, saw the dirt smudged across my face, and sighed.
Then he clapped his hands, and a driver pulled up in a vehicle that looked like it had crawled out of a war zone—pitch black, steel-plated from bumper to bumper, windows thick as bricks.
“Here’s your bulletproof car.” Salvatore’s voice carried a deep, weary resignation.
“I don’t know who you’re trying to defend against, but if you want to play, might as well go all in.”
I threw my arms around him and burst into tears, staining his expensive suit.
“You’re the best! When the zombies come, I’m protecting you! Anyone who tries to bite you, I’ll kill them myself!”
Salvatore stiffened for a moment, then patted my back.
“Well then. Thanks in advance.”