Chapter 4 - The Breach
The sound of gunfire echoed down the grand corridors of the estate—not the chaotic spray of amateur street violence, but the measured, heavy thuds of suppressed automatic weapons.
I retreated to the corner of the master bedroom, my hands pressed tightly over my stomach, shielding the tiny life growing inside me. The heavy steel-reinforced oak doors of the master suite were locked from the inside, but the muffled shouts and breaking glass downstairs told me the sanctuary had been compromised.
Minutes felt like hours. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct shouted at me to hide, but the memory of Dorian's pale, terrified face in the hospital room kept me tethered to the floor.
Suddenly, a loud thump hit the door, followed by the sound of a heavy body sliding down the wood.
"Alina!" Dorian's voice came through the thick panel, ragged and breathless. "Open the door!"
I rushed forward, unlatching the heavy deadbolt and pulling the door inward.
Dorian stumbled into the room. His white shirt was torn at the shoulder, soaked in dark, crimson blood. In his hand, his weapon was smoking, the slide locked back—empty. Behind him, the hallway was silent, illuminated only by the flickering emergency red lights.
"Dorian!" I cried out, catching his weight as he leaned heavily against me. "You're hurt!"
"Glancing shot... shoulder," he grunted, wincing as he shut the door behind him and shoved the deadbolt back into place. "It's fine. Noah and Caleb held the lower hall. The attackers are down."
"You're bleeding through your clothes!" I guided him over to the armchair, my hands covered in his blood. I tore open his shirt to inspect the wound. The bullet had grazed his collarbone, leaving a deep, jagged gash that poured crimson onto his skin. "Where is the medical kit?"
"In the bathroom... under the sink," he panted, his forehead glistening with cold sweat.
I ran to the bathroom, grabbed the black tactical trauma kit, and hurried back to his side. My hands were shaking, but adrenaline surged through my veins, drowning out the lingering morning sickness and exhaustion. I pulled out antiseptic, gauze, and pressure bandages.
"They knew the security codes for the outer gate," Dorian whispered, closing his eyes as I poured antiseptic onto the wound. He didn't even flinch, though his jaw muscles clenched tight enough to break glass. "They bypassed the perimeter sensors. It wasn't an attack from the outside, Alina. It was an execution order from within."
"Noah? Caleb?" I asked, my hands trembling as I wrapped the thick gauze tightly around his shoulder.
"Not Noah," Dorian muttered. "Noah was taking bullets for me on the stairs. But Caleb... Caleb wasn't at his post when the breach happened."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the realization set in. Caleb had been Dorian's right hand for seven years. He had managed the family's logistics, knew every safehouse, every code, every weakness in the Cross empire.
"If Caleb traded us to Valenti," I whispered, pulling the bandage tight and securing it with tape, "then he knows everything. He knows where the backup safehouses are. He knows about Dr. Mercer."
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Dorian opened his eyes, the fog of pain instantly replaced by an absolute, terrifying clarity. He reached out with his uninjured hand, gripping my wrist gently but firmly.
"Then we don't go to a safehouse," Dorian said, his voice dropping into a sinister, icy calm. "We go directly to Victor Valenti. We end this tonight."
