Chapter 6 - The Breach
The calm of the Highland Park estate shattered in an instant.
Sirens wailed across the sprawling grounds, bathing the mahogany bookshelves in an eerie, pulsing red light. Dominic’s expression transformed from a man caught in a moment of quiet vulnerability into an absolute warlord preparing for battle.
“Stay here,” Dominic ordered, his hand dropping swiftly to the tactical holster concealed beneath his vest. “Do not open this door for anyone except me or Maeve.”
“Dominic—!” Lena started.
“Do not move, Lena,” he commanded, his voice absolute.
He vanished through a concealed steel door behind his desk, heading down into the fortified armory.
Lena stood alone in the study, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could hear the muffled pop of suppressed gunfire echoing across the courtyard outside, followed by the deep, concussive boom of a breaching charge near the north gate.
Sofia.
The thought detonated in her mind like a grenade. Sofia was sleeping in her bedroom in the east wing—the exact direction from which the primary assault was coming.
Lena didn’t hesitate.
Ignoring the lingering ache in her left shoulder, she sprinted out of the study and into the grand hallway. The estate was plunging into darkness as the emergency backup generators kicked in, casting long, shifting shadows across the vaulted ceilings.
Gunfire crackled closer—this time inside the main house.
“Clear!” a harsh voice shouted near the grand staircase.
Lena ducked behind a marble pillar as two men in heavy tactical gear swept through the foyer, their automatic rifles scanning the shadows. They weren’t professional hit squads like the ones at Romano’s; these men looked desperate, erratic—surviving remnants of the Moretti crew making a kamikaze run at the heart of the Kane empire.
As the men moved past her toward the west wing, Lena slipped out from behind the pillar and moved silently down the east corridor toward Sofia’s room.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her shoulder screamed in protest with every step, but adrenaline flooded her veins, masking the pain.
She reached Sofia’s bedroom door. It was locked from the inside.
“Sofia!” Lena whispered fiercely, rapping her knuckles lightly against the white wood. “Sofia, open the door! It’s Lena!”
The lock clicked. The door opened an inch, and Sofia’s pale, terrified face appeared in the gap.
“Lena!” the little girl cried, throwing the door open. “There are bad men downstairs! I heard the loud noises!”
“I know, sweetheart,” Lena said, scooping Sofia up into her arms despite her injured shoulder, gritting her teeth against the pain. “We need to move. Right now.”
Before they could reach the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall, a heavy footstep echoed behind them.
Lena spun around.
An operative in black tactical gear stepped out of the shadows, his rifle swinging up toward them with terrifying speed.
“Got the kid,” the man barked into his comms.
Lena didn't think. She remembered the cast-iron skillet, the kitchen prep station, the split-second choice at Romano’s. She threw herself sideways, shielding Sofia with her body, just as a heavy glass vase on the hallway console shattered from a stray round.
Before the intruder could adjust his aim, a deafening roar shook the corridor.
Dominic appeared at the end of the hall like an avenging fury. His rifle flashed twice in the dim light. The intruder took two rounds to the ceramic chest plate, collapsed backward against the wall, and slid silently to the Persian rug.
Dominic dropped his rifle to a low ready, sprinting toward them. His face was soaked with sweat and rain, his eyes wild with terror until he saw Sofia and Lena standing unharmed.
“Are you hurt?” Dominic demanded, grabbing Lena by the shoulders, his hands shaking slightly.
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“We’re okay,” Lena gasped, her knees nearly buckling beneath her. “She’s safe.”
Dominic pulled them both against him in a fierce, crushing embrace, his strong arms wrapping around his daughter and the woman who had twice risked her life to save her.
