Chapter 9 - FIRE AND ASHThe hallway outside the sunroom was cast in eerie, flickering shadows as the emergency lighting kicked in.
Anthony moved with terrifying grace, his weapon raised, clearing the corners with the lethal precision of a trained soldier. I stayed right behind him, my hand clenched around the small snub-nosed .38 I had pulled from my bag upstairs. I wasn't going to let him face an army alone.
Bang. Bang.
The sharp, concussive roar of gunfire echoed through the high marble corridors, followed by the sound of splintering wood and shouting voices.
"They're coming through the conservatory," Anthony whispered, pressing his back against the stone wall beside the grand staircase. He glanced back at me, his eyes dark, burning with a fierce, terrifying intensity. "Eliza, listen to me. If anything happens tonight—if I don't make it back—there's a vault key in my study desk. The accounts are clean. You and the kids are set for life anywhere in the world."
"Shut up, Anthony," I snapped, tears hot in my eyes as I raised my gun beside him. "If you die tonight, I'm shooting you myself for leaving me with twins and a massive estate to clean up."
A rare, fierce smile touched the corners of his mouth—a smile born of pure adrenaline and desperate love.
"Fair enough," he murmured.
Suddenly, two heavily armed men in black tactical gear burst around the corner of the west corridor, their assault rifles raised.
Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
Anthony moved with blinding speed, firing two rapid shots that dropped the first attacker instantly. The second man swung his rifle toward Anthony’s chest.
Without thinking, I raised my .38 revolver, pulled the trigger, and fired.
The kickback nearly tore the gun out of my shaking hand. The bullet caught the attacker in the shoulder, spinning him around just long enough for Anthony to neutralize the threat with a swift, decisive strike.
The hallway fell silent again, save for the crackling of distant flames where a Molotov cocktail had caught the edge of the conservatory drapes.
"Not bad, sweetheart," Anthony breathed, checking the corridor ahead. "Not bad at all."
"Let's get out of here," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Together, fighting our way through the smoke and the chaos, we reached the underground wine cellar where the reinforced steel door of the panic room stood shut.
Anthony punched the digital security code into the keypad, and the heavy door hissed open.
Inside, Marco stood with his weapon drawn, while Liam and Luna sat safely on a leather sofa. When they saw us, both children scrambled off the couch and ran straight toward us.
"Mommy!" Luna cried, throwing her arms around my legs.
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Liam rushed straight to Anthony, burying his face in his father's coat. Anthony dropped his gun, fell to his knees, and scooped Liam up into his arms, burying his face in the boy's dark hair with a shuddering breath of pure relief.
"I've got you, buddy," Anthony whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I've got you."
