Chapter 4 - The Siege on the Cliff
“Get down!” Damian commanded, grabbing my arm and pulling me off the leather armchair just as a deafening explosion rattled the upper floor windows.
The glass of the study’s French doors spiderwebbed outward as a barrage of high-caliber rounds chewed through the mahogany frames. Shrapnel rained across the Persian rug, and the acrid smell of cordite filled the air instantly.
“Leah!” I screamed, panic tearing through my chest like a knife. “The nursery is down the hall! We have to get her!”
“Stay behind me!” Damian ordered, firing two precise shots through the shattered French doors toward the darkened balcony outside. A heavy thud echoed on the stone patio as an intruder dropped out of sight.
The hallway outside the study was a chaotic blur of flashing emergency lights and shouted commands. Two of Damian’s security guards sprinted past, laying down suppressive fire toward the grand staircase where masked figures in tactical gear were attempting to breach the second floor.
I didn't care about the gunfire. I didn't care about the men in tactical gear. My entire world had narrowed down to the small bedroom at the end of the hall where Leah was sleeping.
I scrambled out of the study, keeping low to the floor, and sprinted down the corridor.
“Clara, get back!” Damian shouted, covering my flank as he fired down the cross-hallway, neutralizing an intruder trying to flank our position.
I burst through the double doors of the nursery.
The room was filled with moonlight and smoke drifting in from the hallway. In the center of the vast velvet bed, Leah was awake, sitting bolt upright, clutching her old velvet rabbit to her chest. She wasn't crying. Her wide, dark eyes stared at me with a terrifying, heartbreaking calm that mirrored her mother’s fierce spirit.
I threw myself across the mattress, scooping her into my arms and pulling her tight against my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I sobbed into her hair, shielding her small body with mine. “Mama’s got you. I’m never letting you go again.”
A heavy shadow darkened the nursery doorway.
I whipped my head around, my heart stopping dead in my chest.
Standing in the frame was a tall, silver-haired man in an expensive tailored suit, holding a silenced pistol aimed directly at my head. Julian Vance.
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“Well, well,” Julian smiled, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly devoid of human soul amid the raging gun battle outside. “Sentimentality. It’s always the downfall of empires.”
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