Anna dropped her fork against the porcelain plate with a sharp, echoing clack. The sound shattered the pristine silence of the morning dining room, slicing through the hum of the central heating and the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall.

Then, the lock gave way with a sickening crunch as a heavy boot slammed directly into the center of the double doors. The wood splintered, and the doors flew inward, crashing against the interior walls.

Two silhouettes stepped into the threshold, clad in full tactical gear, night-vision goggles glowing a faint, eerie green in the darkness. Each held an assault rifle pointed low, sweeping the room with military precision.

"Clear," the first one grunted through a muffled comms unit.

"Not quite," Anna whispered.

She didn't aim like a professional. She closed her eyes, pointed the Walther PPK toward the doorway where the green glow of the goggles illuminated the dust motes, and pulled the trigger.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise inside the small study was deafening, a concussive shockwave that rattled the windows. The first mercenary yelled out in surprise as plaster exploded from the wall inches from his head.

Before he could swing his rifle toward her, Cedric fired twice from the floor.

Puff. Puff.

The suppressed shots sounded like heavy staples hitting wood, but the impact was absolute. The lead mercenary crumpled backward, hitting the hallway floor with a heavy, boneless thud.

The second intruder pivoted toward Cedric with lightning speed, raising his rifle barrel to sweep the floor.

"No you don't," Anna screamed.

She leaped up from behind the desk, charged across the room like a wild animal, and hurled her heavy ceramic coffee mug straight at the man's head. It caught him square on the side of his tactical helmet with a hollow clonk, throwing his aim off by crucial inches.

Cedric’s third shot caught the man in the shoulder, spinning him around just as Thomas Reilly—bursting through the side service corridor with a shotgun in his hands—delivered a devastating blast that sent the intruder flying back out into the hallway.

Silence slammed back down over the room, thick with the acrid smell of cordite, gunsmoke, and fresh blood.

Anna stood frozen in the center of the study, the small pistol shaking violently in her hand, her chest heaving as she stared down at the dark, motionless forms bleeding out on the Persian rug.

Cedric was breathing heavily, dragging himself back toward his abandoned wheelchair using only his powerful arms, his face drained of all color, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

"Anna," Cedric rasped, his voice strained and tight. "Drop the gun."

She let it slip from her fingers. It hit the rug with a dull thud.

Thomas Reilly rushed into the room, stepping over the body in the doorway, his face pale and lined with panic. "Boss! Perimeter is breached at the south gate! There’s a full team coming up the drive in armored vans!"

Cedric grabbed the armrests of his wheelchair, his biceps trembling with agonizing effort as he hauled his dead weight up and locked himself into the seat. He didn't look at Thomas. He looked straight at Anna.

"They aren't here to kill me," Cedric said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper. "They're here to take you."

"Take me?" Anna stared at him, her voice a hollow shell. "Why would a hit squad want me?"

"Because," Cedric said, pulling a hidden key from his chain and tossing it across the desk toward her feet, "your father didn't die in a car crash, Anna. And the man who ordered these hits isn't a rival mob boss."