Chapter 6 - The Siege of the East Wing
The air in the bedroom dropped ten degrees.
The warmth of the moment vanished instantly, replaced by the razor-sharp tension of a predator sensing an ambush. Damian’s eyes hardened, the dark, ruthless intelligence returning to his gaze with terrifying speed.
“He’s early,” Damian whispered, his voice cold as river ice.
“He knows about the girl, sir,” Mara spoke up, her voice cracking as she stepped forward, shielding Lila with her own body. “One of the kitchen staff—she’s Viktor’s cousin—she saw Lila going in and out of your room. Viktor thinks you’re vulnerable. He thinks you’re keeping a weakness here.”
Damian looked at Mara. For a fraction of a second, he evaluated her. In the old days, anyone who brought liability into his house was discarded without a second thought. But Mara hadn't asked for this. She was just a mother trying to survive in a world built by men like him.
And more importantly, they had touched his lifeline.
“Vance,” Damian said, his voice dropping into the unmistakable tone of the syndicate king he had always been.
“Sir?”
“Lock the inner security gate to the east wing. Use the manual deadbolt. Not the electronic one—Viktor has codes for the system.”
“And if they breach the outer door?” Vance asked, his old eyes steady.
Damian slowly pushed the heavy wool blanket off his legs. He swung his feet over the side of the bed. His muscles screamed in protest, his joints aching from months of atrophy and poison, but as he planted his feet firmly on the Persian rug, the strength returned—not all at once, but in a surge of pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
“Then they will find out why they were fools to think I was ever truly dead,” Damian said.
He reached into the false bottom of the bedside table and withdrew a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer P226. He checked the magazine with a practiced, mechanical click that echoed sharply in the quiet room.
“Mara,” Damian said without looking back. “Take Lila into the walk-in secure panic room behind the wardrobe. Do not come out until I open the door.”
“Mr. Volkov—!”
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“Go!” he barked.
Mara didn't argue. She scooped Lila into her arms, ignoring the child’s frightened whimpers, and hurried toward the reinforced steel door hidden behind the mahogany armoire.
