Chapter 7 - Crimson Silk and Cold Steel
The relative peace of the gala didn't last. By midnight, as the guests began to thin out, the mansion’s security alarms suddenly flared into life.
The lights in the ballroom cut out, plunging the space into absolute darkness. Screams erupted as gunfire shattered the glass windows overlooking the gardens. The Petrov syndicate had launched a desperate, full-scale assault on the estate.
"Dante! Secure the perimeter!" Lucian shouted through the dark. He instantly threw his body over Elena’s, pinning her to the floor behind a heavy oak bar as bullets tore through the air above them.
Elena could hear the wet, heavy sound of Lucian breathing above her. When she reached out to touch his chest, her hands came away warm and sticky.
"Lucian! You're hurt!" she cried, panic seizing her throat.
"It’s just a scratch, Elena," he ground out, his hand tightening around his pistol as he fired three shots into the darkness, dropping a Russian soldier who had breached the terrace doors. "Stay down. Don't move from this spot."
He moved away to lead his men into the fray, his absolute ferocity keeping the attackers from reaching the inner sanctum of the house.
By the time the lights returned twenty minutes later, the mansion looked like a war zone. The attackers had been completely eliminated, but Lucian lay slumped against the base of the grand staircase, his white shirt soaked in crimson. A bullet had torn through his shoulder, and another had grazed his ribs.
The mansion’s private medical staff rushed forward, but Lucian pushed them away with a bloody hand. "Get... get Elena," he growled, his eyes scanning the ruined room until they found her running toward him.
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"I'm here, Lucian! I'm here," she said, kneeling beside him.
"Take me to your workshop," he gasped, his grip on her wrist tight enough to leave bruises. "I don't want these butchers touching me. You... you fix things, Elena. Fix me."
