Chapter 13 - The Siege of Lake Forest
Ten minutes earlier, the storm outside the Lake Forest estate had turned into a blinding whiteout.
Sophia was sitting in the conservatory with Eleanor when the perimeter alarms began their shrill, deafening wail.
*Red Protocol. Perimeter Breach. Sector Four.*
The automated steel shutters slammed down over the grand windows with the concussive boom of falling portcullises, plunging the conservatory into shadow before the emergency red lights flickered on.
Eleanor rose instantly, her aristocratic frailness vanishing, replaced by the instincts of a woman who had survived three mob wars in the 1980s. She reached behind the portrait of Dominic’s father and pulled a polished semi-automatic shotgun from the hidden recess.
“Up, Sophia,” Eleanor barked, pumping the action with a crisp *clack-clack*. “To the panic room beneath the library. Now!”
“What about the guards?” Sophia gasped, her hand pressed against her swollen stomach as an adrenaline spike made her baby kick violently.
“The Voronins don't fight guards,” Eleanor said through gritted teeth. “They eliminate them with thermal scopes and suppressed carbines. Move your feet!”
Gunfire erupted from the front courtyard—the sharp, ripping sound of automatic weapons cutting through the howling blizzard.
Sophia ran down the long marble corridor, her heart hammering in her throat, Eleanor moving with surprising speed behind her.
Just as they reached the library double doors, the heavy oak entrance of the manor exploded inward.
Two men dressed in white winter camouflage stepped through the splintered frame, their assault rifles raised, night-vision optics glowing green in the dim emergency light.
“Mrs. Vale,” the lead Russian spoke in accented, flat English. “Julian Cross sends his regards.”
Eleanor stepped in front of Sophia without hesitation and fired the shotgun.
The blast caught the lead operative in the shoulder, blowing him backward through the shattered doorway into the snow.
The second Russian didn't flinch. He fired a three-round burst from the hip.
Eleanor gasped, a sharp cry tearing from her lips as two rounds struck her side. She collapsed against the mahogany paneling, the shotgun clattering across the marble floor.
“Eleanor!” Sophia screamed, dropping to her knees beside the matriarch.
Blood was pooling through Eleanor’s black wool sweater, bright and arterial. The older woman grabbed Sophia’s wrist with surprising, desperate strength, her eyes wide with terror.
“Run, Sophia,” Eleanor choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of her lips. “The safe room… save the baby… save Dominic’s child!”
The second Russian stepped forward, raising his rifle barrel directly toward Sophia’s chest.
Sophia didn't run.
She looked into the cold, dead eyes behind the tactical goggles. She didn't beg. She didn't cry.
She stood up slowly, putting her body entirely between the gunman and Eleanor, her hands resting over her belly, her chin lifted high.
“If you shoot me,” Sophia said, her voice ringing clear and steady over the sound of the storm, “Dominic Vale will hunt your family, your children, and everyone you have ever loved to the ends of the earth. Shoot me. And see what happens to your soul.”
The gunman paused for a fraction of a second—a microsecond of hesitation caused by the absolute, unbroken defiance in the pregnant woman’s eyes.
May you like
That single second was all Dominic needed.
***