Chapter 3 - The Breach
The storm broke on a rainy Tuesday night.
Lightning cracked across the midnight sky, illuminating the sprawling gardens outside my window in jagged flashes of white. The wind howled through the oak trees, rattling the windowpanes.
I was awake, reading a textbook on sensory processing disorders by the bedside lamp, when the power inside the main house suddenly flickered and died.
The brilliant chandeliers clicked off, plunging the grand estate into an eerie, heavy darkness, broken only by the dim, pulsing red emergency lights glowing along the baseboards.
Then came the first sound that didn't belong to the wind.
A dull, muffled pop from the front perimeter gates.
Gunfire.
Panic surged through my veins, cold and sharp. I threw off the blanket, my mind instantly flashing to Ava. Her nursery was on the opposite wing, down the long, dark corridor.
I slipped out of bed, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick from the bureau as an improvised weapon, and opened my door just a crack.
Men in dark tactical gear were moving stealthily through the second-floor hallway, their black boots silent against the carpet, submachine guns raised. They weren't police. They were professionals—hit squads sent by the Outfit to strike at the heart of the DeLuca empire.
To strike at Ava.
Terror paralyzed my limbs for a fraction of a second. Then, maternal instinct and absolute fury took over.
I couldn't let them reach the nursery.
Slipping out into the shadows of the hallway, I crept behind the lead intruder as he paused near a recessed alcove, his attention focused on the stairs.
Clang!
I brought the heavy brass candlestick down across the back of his helmet with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The man grunted, staggering forward, his weapon clattering to the floor. He spun around, cursing in Italian, but before he could raise his sidearm, a dark shadow detached itself from the ceiling rafters above him.
Dante—no, Damian.
Damian dropped out of the gloom like a striking panther, slamming his combat boot into the intruder’s chest and sending him crashing hard against the wall, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Damian stood there in a tactical black sweater, a heavy pistol gripped in his right hand, his face set in stone. When his dark eyes found me standing in the dim red emergency light with a dented candlestick in my hand, a flicker of sheer shock crossed his features.
“What in God’s name are you doing out of your room?” Damian hissed, lunging forward to grab my arm and yank me flat against his chest behind a marble pillar.
“They’re heading for the east wing!” I whispered fiercely, my voice shaking with adrenaline. “Ava’s room is down there!”
“My men intercepted the primary breach at the gates three minutes ago,” Damian said, his breathing ragged, his gaze scanning the dark corridor with lethal precision. “This was a secondary extraction team. Marcus has the nursery sealed. But you—you should have locked your door!”
“I wasn't going to hide while someone came for Ava!” I shot back, looking him straight in the eyes, refusing to cower.
Damian stared at me, the harsh lines of his face softening for a fraction of a second. The feared mafia boss, the man who made entire syndicates tremble, looked at a retail clerk turned caregiver with a gaze that held profound, burning respect.
“You are out of your mind, Natalie Carter,” he murmured softly.
May you like
Before I could answer, a loud explosion rocked the lower foyer, followed by shouting and the rapid, deafening roar of automatic weapons echoing up the grand staircase.
“Stay behind me,” Damian commanded, raising his pistol as he stepped out from behind the pillar. “Whatever happens tonight... you stay right behind me.”
