Chapter 5 - The Siege of Barrington
The sun over the Barrington estate rose through a curtain of heavy autumn fog that clung to the manicured lawns like a shroud of white silk.
Inside the library on the ground floor, Marcus sat behind his massive mahogany desk, cleaning a Browning 9mm pistol with methodical, chilling precision. Each part was disassembled, wiped down with an oily rag, and reassembled with the mechanical grace of a man who lived at war.
The heavy oak door swung open without a knock.
Elena walked in, holding a steaming cup of black coffee. She looked better after a few hours of sleep, though the dark circles under her eyes still spoke of years of running and fear. She set the mug down on the edge of the desk.
"She talked again," Elena said softly.
Marcus stopped wiping the slide of the pistol. His head snapped up. "What did she say?"
"I was sitting by her bed before dawn," Elena smiled, a faint, fragile ghost of the woman he had loved before the world went to ash. "She woke up, reached out and touched my face, and asked if we were going to stay here forever."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told her we were staying right here," Elena said, her voice steadying. "Because no matter what's waiting outside these gates, we're done running."
Before Marcus could answer, the low, dull thud of an explosion echoed from the front perimeter.
Boom.
The reinforced windows of the library vibrated, and the security monitors mounted on the far wall flickered violently as camera four—the main iron gate half a mile down the drive—went completely black.
Marcus stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward onto the Persian rug.
"They're here," Marcus muttered.
He holstered the Browning under his suit jacket, grabbed a tactical shotgun from the concealed rack behind the bookshelf, and shoved a spare box of shells into his pocket.
"Stay in the panic room," Marcus ordered, his voice harsh and absolute as he grabbed Elena by the shoulders. "Do not come out until I unlock the door myself."
"Marcus—"
"Listen to me!" he shouted, his hands gripping her tight. "I spent three years thinking you were dead. I am not going through that again. Go to our daughter."
Elena didn't argue. She nodded once, her eyes burning with fierce determination, and ran down the hallway toward the nursery suite.
Marcus stepped out into the grand foyer.
Rocco and four heavily armed men in tactical gear were already barricading the front double doors with heavy oak furniture, their assault rifles locked and loaded.
"Status!" Marcus barked.
"Front gate was breached with an explosive charge, boss," Rocco reported, his face grim as he checked the magazine of his rifle. "Two black SUVs. North Side enforcers. At least a dozen men, heavily armed. They're moving up the drive."
"Romano's personal hit squad," Marcus said, a cold, predatory smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He thinks he can clean up his loose ends before the feds arrive."
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"What are your orders?"
"Let them through the outer gardens," Marcus said, stepping toward the reinforced side exit that led to the greenhouse. "Don't fire until they reach the terrace. I want every single one of them inside the kill zone before we close the trap."
