Chapter 7 - The Judas Within
Damian departed at midnight with eight armored vehicles and twenty of his most loyal men.
The house was eerily silent. Snow fell in massive, heavy sheets, burying the driveway and deadening all sound from outside.
Luca was fast asleep in his room. I sat in the library, wrapped in a woolen shawl, the clock on the mantle ticking away the minutes like a countdown to execution.
At two in the morning, the power failed.
The crystal chandeliers flickered twice and died. The crackle of the electric heating ceased instantly, plunging Willowcrest into freezing darkness.
A heartbeat later, the backup emergency lights—soft red beacons along the baseboards—flickered on.
I stood up, my pulse racing. I walked swiftly to the hallway and found Marco standing by the central stairwell, his radio pressed to his ear, his assault rifle already unslung.
"Marco? What happened to the main grid?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
Marco’s face was grim. "External power lines were severed three miles up the road. The auxiliary generator should have kicked in automatically. It didn't."
"Sabotage?"
"Stay here, Miss Carter. I’m going to check the basement control room."
"No, wait—"
Before I could finish, the soft red emergency lights flickered out completely. Total, suffocating pitch-blackness enveloped the mansion.
Then, from the front courtyard, came the muffled *thwip-thwip-thwip* of silenced gunfire.
The security perimeter had been breached.
Marco cursed in Italian, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle. "They didn't ambush Damian at the docks! The dock meeting was a decoy to draw him out! They came for the house!"
Ice flooded my veins. *Luca.*
"Get Luca to the vault on the third floor!" Marco shouted, sprinting toward the grand foyer where glass began to shatter under tactical breaching hammers. "Go! Now!"
I didn't hesitate. Adrenaline surged through me, overpowering any lingering ache in my ribs. I sprinted through the dark corridors, using muscle memory to navigate the stairs, racing toward Luca’s bedroom.
I threw open his door. Luca was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, clutching Terry the dinosaur in the pale moonlight filtering through the snow-covered window.
"Emma? The lights are off..."
"Shh, baby, listen to me," I whispered urgently, scooping him into my arms and pulling a thick winter coat over his pajamas. "We are playing our game. The fortress game. You have to be as quiet as a little mouse, okay? Not a single word."
Luca looked into my eyes, sensed the sheer terror I was fighting to conceal, and nodded bravely. "I'm a mouse. I'm quiet."
I bolted into the hallway, heading toward Damian's study where the master panic room was hidden behind the mahogany bookshelves.
Downstairs, the battle had begun.
Gunfire ripped through the great hall, accompanied by shouting, the heavy thud of boots, and the horrific sound of men falling. Marco and the four guards left at the estate were fighting like lions, but the attackers had superior numbers and night-vision gear.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed up the rear servant stairs.
"Check the master wing!" a gravelly voice barked in the dark. "Giancarlo wants the boy alive for leverage, but kill the girl! Leave no witnesses!"
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They were on our floor.
***