Chapter 4 - The Breach at Dawn
The alarm wails bounced off the stone walls of the west gallery like trapped hornets. Red emergency strobe lights began flashing near the ceiling, casting frantic crimson shadows across Dominic’s face.
In a fraction of a second, the vulnerable man from the hidden room vanished, replaced by the apex predator of the Chicago underworld.
“Stay behind me,” Dominic ordered, his voice snapping with lethal authority as he drew a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol from his shoulder holster with practiced, fluid ease.
“What’s happening?” I asked, my heart pounding in my throat.
“Someone just bypassed the outer perimeter sensors on the north gate,” he said, his eyes darting toward the hallway. “And based on the access code they used... they didn't hack the system. They had an internal key.”
That realization hit me like a physical blow. The security codes were strictly compartmentalized. Only Dominic, Aunt Rosa, and a select few trusted inner-circle lieutenants—including Marco, the head of security—possessed the master credentials.
“Marco,” I whispered.
Dominic’s expression darkened further. “Move.”
We sprinted out of the gallery and into the grand hallway. The mansion was in chaos. Armed guards in tactical gear were rushing toward the central staircase, shouting position reports into their comm-links. The smell of gunsmoke and burnt electrical wiring drifted up from the ground floor.
As we reached the top of the grand staircase, a burst of automatic gunfire erupted from the foyer below. Splinters of expensive oak and shards of imported crystal rained down from the chandelier as bullets tore through the lower level.
“Down!” Dominic shouted, throwing his arm around my waist and dragging me behind the thick stone balustrade of the landing just as a volley of return fire rattled upward.
Glass shattered. A statue near the entrance crashed to the floor.
“Boss! We’ve got multiple hostiles in the courtyard!” one of the guards yelled from below, ducking behind an marble pillar. “They’re trying to breach the secure archive room in the basement!”
The archive room.
My breath caught. That wasn't just where they kept financial records or operational ledgers. The archive room was located directly beneath the west wing—right below the hidden room where we had just found Dominic’s mother’s photo album.
“They aren't here for the money,” Dominic realized aloud, his jaw tightening into a hard line of fury. “They’re looking for whatever Elena left behind.”
“How did they know it was there?” I asked, clutching my arm as a stray piece of plaster grazed my sleeve.
“Because someone inside my organization tipped them off,” Dominic said coldly. He looked down at me, his dark eyes fierce and uncompromising. “Clara, listen to me very carefully. You need to get to the panic room behind the library. Lock the door and do not open it for anyone—do you hear me? Anyone—unless you hear my voice giving the specific passcode.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” I argued, shaking my head fiercely. “You’re bleeding.”
I hadn't noticed it before, but a dark stain was spreading across the sleeve of his shirt where a bullet graze had clipped his shoulder.
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“This isn't a game, Clara!” he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was underscored by a desperate urgency. “This is my world. I didn't hire you to die in a crossfire.”
Before I could reply, a deafening explosion echoed from the lower levels, shaking the foundations of the entire mansion and plunging the estate into sudden, total darkness as the emergency generators failed.
