Part 3: Blood on the Marble
The nursery doors burst open. Santos stepped in, his tactical vest covered in fresh blood, a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. "We have a breach at the south gate. Volkov’s men. Emily, take the baby. Now!"
My heart hammered against my ribs. The maternal instinct that had lain dormant for months roared to life. I snatched Adriana from her crib, wrapping her tightly in a thick wool blanket. Before we could move toward the safe room, the window of my suite shattered into a thousand shards of glass.
A masked man threw himself through the broken frame. I screamed, ducking behind the heavy oak changing table as Santos fired a burst into the intruder’s chest.
"Go! To the basement!" Santos yelled, engaging another target in the hallway.
I ran. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder, ozone, and copper. I didn't know the layout of the mansion well enough, and within minutes, I found myself cornered in the grand library. The heavy mahogany doors groaned as someone threw their weight against them from the outside.
I looked around frantically. There was nowhere to hide. I squeezed Adriana closer to my chest, whispering, "Shh, baby, please, be quiet. I’ve got you. I’ve got you."
The doors splintered open. A tall, pale man with a jagged scar across his throat stepped into the room, raising a suppressed pistol directly at my head. "The Walker brat ends tonight," he hissed in a thick Russian accent.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact, shielding Adriana with my entire body.
Bang.
The sound was deafening. But I felt no pain.
I opened my eyes to see the assassin falling forward, a perfect crimson hole drilled into the center of his forehead. Standing at the other end of the library was Dominic. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt stained with blood, and a smoking desert eagle pistol held steady in his hand.
He dropped the weapon, rushing across the room in three massive strides. He didn't check himself for injuries; instead, his hands flew over me and Adriana, searching for wounds.
"Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" his voice was ragged, frantic, completely devoid of the mob boss persona.
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"We’re okay," I gasped, tears finally spilling over. "We’re okay, Dominic."
For the first time since I met him, Dominic broke. He pulled both of us into his arms, crushing us against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird. In that moment of shared terror, the line between captor and protector blurred into nothingness.
