Chapter 4 - Breach at the Iron GatesThe lights flickered once, twice, and then died completely as the emergency backup generator hummed to life with a low, metallic groan, casting the mansion in an eerie, pulsing red glow.
Downstairs, the heavy sound of gunfire echoed across the marble foyer.
“Stay in this room,” Adrian ordered, his voice dropping instantly into commander mode. He drew a sleek, suppressed pistol from his holster with practiced, terrifying speed.
“Where are you going?” Hannah demanded, stepping forward. “Lucas is upstairs!”
“That’s why you’re locking this door and staying inside,” Adrian snapped, his eyes flashing with lethal fury. “They aren't here for me. They tracked the pediatrician’s car. They know Lucas is alive.”
Before Hannah could argue, the study door was kicked open.
It wasn't an assassin. It was Marcus, bleeding heavily from a gash across his forehead, clutching an assault rifle with one hand.
“Boss! The west perimeter wall is breached! It’s the Morosco crew—they brought explosives, and they’ve cut the main phone lines. They’re clearing the ground floor room by room!”
Adrian’s face hardened into stone. “How many?”
“At least fifteen men. Heavy armor. They know about the safe room, but they’re heading for the grand staircase first. They’re going for the nursery!”
“No,” Hannah breathed, her maternal terror morphing instantly into cold, unyielding rage.
She thought of the three weeks she had spent weeping over an empty crib. She thought of the tiny, fragile heartbeat she had just pulled back from the brink of death upstairs. No one—no mafia boss, no rival crew, no gun-toting monster—was going to touch that baby while she was breathing.
“Give me a weapon, Marcus,” Hannah said, her voice deadpan and steady.
Marcus blinked, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. “Lady, you run a bakery!”
“And you eat dry crackers because nobody knows how to use a kitchen,” Hannah snapped, snatching a heavy cast-iron fireplace poker from the hearth. “I spent ten years hauling fifty-pound bags of flour and defending my father’s shop from local loan sharks. I am not hiding in a closet.”
Adrian looked at her, studying the fierce, blazing defiance in her hazel eyes. For a fraction of a second, a dangerous, dark smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“Give her the backup Glock from your ankle holster, Marcus,” Adrian ordered coldly.
May you like
Marcus hesitated, then unclipped a compact firearm and handed it over. Hannah caught it with a practiced grip, her hands not shaking once.
“If any of them make it past the second-floor landing,” Adrian said, cocking his pistol, “we burn the house down around them.”
