Chapter 2 - The Ambush at Midnight
The storm outside Dante’s fortified estate began to rattle the reinforced glass windows, echoing the chaos raging in Elena’s mind. Rain drummed violently against the brickwork of the historic Gold Coast mansion.
Malcolm stood up abruptly, pulling his overcoat around his trembling frame.
"I need to return to the office, Elena," Malcolm said, his voice high-pitched and strained. "Your father will be waiting for an update on this meeting."
"Your father isn't at the office, Malcolm," Dante stated, not even bothering to glance at the fleeing attorney. "He boarded a private charter to Zurich two hours ago from Midway."
Elena gasped, spinning toward the lawyer. "My father left the country?"
Malcolm bolted toward the heavy double doors of the study, fumbling with the brass latch in a blind panic. Before he could pull the door open, the room was shattered by a deafening crack.
The heavy plate glass of the second-story study window exploded inward in a shower of glittering, lethal shards.
"Down!" Dante roared.
In a fraction of a second, his powerful frame collided with Elena, knocking her off her feet and shielding her entirely beneath his body on the hardwood floor. The scent of cedar and clean soap washed over her as high-caliber rounds tore through the plaster walls above their heads.
Malcolm let out a sharp, gurgling shriek near the door, collapsing to his knees as splinters and drywall rained down like hail.
Elena lay pinned beneath Dante's heavy weight, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could feel the steady, unyielding tension in his muscles, the lethal calmness of a man who had lived his entire life in the crosshairs of war.
"Are you hit?" Dante murmured against her ear, his voice barely above a whisper despite the gunfire.
"No," she gasped, her hands clutching the fabric of his white shirt. "Are you?"
"I'm fine," he replied, already pulling a sleek black semi-automatic pistol from a concealed holster beneath his arm.
The gunfire abruptly stopped, replaced by the screech of tires tearing away on the wet asphalt outside the front gates. Heavy footsteps echoed down the grand corridor as three of Dante’s armed security guards breached the study with assault rifles raised.
"Clear!" the lead guard shouted, sweeping the room before lowering his weapon. "Perimeter breached on the east terrace, Boss. The shooters fled in a dark sedan."
Dante pushed himself up smoothly, extending a strong, calloused hand to lift Elena from the floor. He didn't look at the shattered window or the bullet holes; his dark eyes were scanning her from head to toe, checking every inch of her skin for blood.
"Malcolm," Elena whispered, pointing a trembling hand toward the doorway.
The attorney lay curled on the rug, clutching his shoulder where a stray round had grazed his collarbone. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his pristine white shirt.
Dante walked over, planting the heavy heel of his dress shoe firmly onto the rug inches from the lawyer’s face.
"They weren't aiming for me, Malcolm," Dante said, his voice dropping into a chilling, unforgiving register. "They were aiming for her."
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Malcolm looked up, weeping in sheer, unadulterated terror.
"Giancarlo... Giancarlo said she was supposed to be in the car," the attorney sobbed brokenly. "He said if she died before the default deadline, the estate would bypass the court review entirely!"
