Chapter 9 - The Siege of Castiglion Estate
The attack came at 11:14 p.m.
There was no polite knock, no warning buzzer at the front gates. The tranquility of the night was shattered by a concussive BOOM that rattled the reinforced glass windows of the mansion and knocked the electricity out instantly. Emergency red backup lights flickered to life along the vaulted ceilings, casting long, bloody shadows across the imported Persian rugs.
"Down!"
A heavy hand grabbed my arm, yanking me violently to the floor behind the marble kitchen island just as a barrage of automatic gunfire tore through the exterior walls. Shards of glass and splinters of expensive wood rained down around us like lethal hail.
"Carmine!" Leo roared into his encrypted handheld radio, drawing his custom Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed. "Status report!"
“We've got breaches at the eastern gate and the south greenhouse!” Carmine’s voice barked back through the static, punctuated by the distinct pop-pop-pop of suppressive fire. “It’s Gregor’s crew! They brought heavy ordinance—thermal charges! They’re trying to blow the main vault doors!”
"Hold the line!" Leo ordered, his dark eyes fixed entirely on me, checking every inch of my body for injuries. "Mave, look at me. Stay right here behind this marble barrier. Do not move, no matter what you hear."
"Leo, no—you can't go out there alone," I gasped, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"I'm not alone," Leo said, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth as he cocked his weapon. "I'm protecting what's mine."
Before I could pull him back, he vaulted over the marble counter and disappeared into the darkened hallway toward the foyer. The sound of gunfire escalated into a deafening symphony of war—shouting, shattering glass, heavy boots slamming against the hardwood floors, and the rhythmic, terrifying thunder of automatic weapons echoing through the grand corridors of the estate.
I curled into a tight ball behind the island, pressing my hands over my ears as the smell of cordite and smoke filled the air. Minutes stretched into agonizing hours. Every muffled scream and gunshot felt like a physical blow to my chest.
Suddenly, heavy, stumbling footsteps approached the kitchen.
My breath caught. I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet off the lower rack, my knuckles turning white as I prepared to swing with everything I had.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped around the marble corner, bleeding heavily from a jagged gash across his forehead, clutching a suppressed submachine gun. It wasn't Leo. It was one of Gregor’s Russian enforcers.
The man spotted me instantly, a cruel, vicious grin spreading across his blood-stained face. "Well, look what we found," he rasped in broken English, raising his weapon directly toward my chest. "The little maid."
I gripped the handle of the skillet, adrenaline surging through my veins, ready to lunge—
Crack.
A single gunshot echoed with absolute perfection. The Russian enforcer’s eyes widened in shock. The submachine gun slipped from his limp fingers, clattering loudly against the kitchen tiles, before he collapsed face-first onto the floor just inches from my boots.
Standing behind him in the doorway was Leo. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, a dark smear of blood staining his chest, his dark eyes burning with the unholy fury of a fallen angel. He lowered his smoking Sig Sauer, his chest heaving as he scanned the room to ensure no other threats remained.
In two long strides, Leo crossed the bloody kitchen floor, dropped to his knees in front of me, and pulled me violently into his arms, burying his face in my neck.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice trembling—the first time I had ever heard raw, unadulterated fear crack through his armor. "Mave, did they touch you?"
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"I'm okay," I choked out, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, pressing my face against his chest as the tears finally broke free. "I'm okay, Leo. You came back."
"Always," he whispered fiercely against my hair.
