Chapter 5 - The Siege of the Estate
The sound of automatic gunfire echoed across the twelve-acre estate like distant thunder.
"Emma, get upstairs now!" Declan commanded, pulling a heavy silver pistol from a concealed holster beneath his jacket. "Lock the nursery panic door! Do not open it for anyone except me or Viktor!"
Emma didn't waste a second on panic. "Understood!"
She sprinted up the grand staircase, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Inside the nursery, Grace and June were already sitting up in bed, their eyes wide with sudden terror as the muffled pops of gunfire echoed outside the window.
"Emma!" June cried out, stretching her arms out. "Is the monster back?"
"No, sweetie," Emma said quickly, keeping her voice completely calm and steady as she scooped both girls into her arms. "It’s just thunder. We’re going to play a game in the special room behind the closet."
She carried them into the walk-in closet, pressed her hand against a hidden biometric scanner disguised as an outlet, and slid back the heavy reinforced steel door of the panic room. She ushered the girls inside, turned on the soft warm overhead lights, and grabbed two plush bunnies from the shelf.
"Stay right here, okay?" Emma instructed gently, sitting them down on the plush rug. "Mommy... I mean, Emma needs to lock the door."
Grace caught her sleeve. "Are you going to stay with us?"
Emma looked at the terror in the little girl's eyes, then down at the master control panel inside the door. If she locked herself inside with them, they were completely safe—the steel door could withstand an anti-tank missile. But if Marchetti’s men broke into the house, Declan would be fighting alone downstairs.
"I'll be right outside the door, Grace," Emma promised, kissing both of their foreheads. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
She slid the heavy steel door almost shut, leaving a tiny two-inch crack for ventilation, and pulled a heavy brass fire poker from the decorative stand near the master bedroom fireplace. She stood in the dark walk-in closet, her breath hitched, listening to the war unfolding below.
Downstairs, the grand foyer was a warzone.
Glass shattered as three tactical shooters dressed in unmarked black gear broke through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room.
Declan moved through the shadows of his own home like a predator. He fired three precise shots, dropping the first two intruders instantly before sliding behind a marble pillar as return fire chewed through the priceless oil paintings on the wall.
Viktor and two estate guards flanked the main entrance, cutting off the secondary assault team with heavy fire.
"They aren't here to hold the house, boss!" Viktor shouted over the deafening noise. "This is a hit team! Marchetti sent ten men to clear the estate!"
Declan reloaded his weapon with practiced, lethal speed. His gray eyes were dead and empty. "They brought ten men to my home? They needed fifty."
Declan stepped out from behind the pillar, moving with terrifying fluid grace. Within forty seconds, the remaining three shooters in the foyer were eliminated.
Silence fell over the ground floor, heavy with the smell of gunpowder and cordite.
Declan wiped a small cut on his cheek, turning toward the stairs. "Viktor, clear the perimeter. I'm going to the nursery."
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the second-floor balcony.
One of Marchetti’s men—a heavy-set operative who had bypassed the ground-floor defense by scaling the ivy trellis—had kicked open the glass balcony doors of the master suite.
Declan ran up the stairs three at a time, his heart in his throat.
In the second-floor hallway, the operative was kicking open doors, holding an assault rifle, moving methodically toward the nursery.
"Where are the kids?!" the man growled into his shoulder radio. "I'm at the east wing!"
Before he could reach the closet, Emma stepped out from the shadows of the master bedroom doorway.
She didn't hesitate. With all the strength in her young body, she swung the heavy brass fire poker directly into the side of the man's knee.
CRACK.
The operative let out a roar of pain, stumbling sideways, his rifle clattering onto the hardwood floor. He spun around, his face twisted in rage, and grabbed Emma by the throat, slamming her back against the wall.
"You little bitch—!" he snarled, raising a gloved fist.
A cold, heavy gun barrel pressed directly against the back of his skull.
"Touch her again," Declan’s voice whispered softly into his ear, "and I'll skin you alive."
BANG.
The operative collapsed onto the floor.
Declan dropped his weapon, instantly stepping forward to catch Emma as she slid down the wall, clutching her throat, coughing for air.
"Emma! Emma, look at me," Declan pleaded, taking her pale face in his massive, trembling hands. "Are you alright? Did he break anything?"
Emma looked up into his frantic gray eyes, her throat burning, but she managed a weak, defiant nod. "I... I hit him first."
Declan let out a breathless, tragic laugh, pulling her small frame tightly against his chest, holding her as if she were made of delicate glass. "You crazy, wonderful woman..."
From the crack in the closet door, a small voice called out timidly.
"Emma? Daddy?"
May you like
Declan pulled back, looking at Emma, then at the closet door. He stood up, extended his hand, and lifted Emma to her feet. Together, they walked over and slid the panic room door wide open.
Grace and June looked up from the floor, saw their father and Emma standing side by side in the doorway, and let out a joyful cry, throwing themselves into their arms.
