Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT SIEGE
"Breach on the south perimeter," Gerald’s voice crackled through Nathan’s earpiece, strained and breathless. "They cut the backup generators at the transformer station! Three tactical teams, full blackout gear!"
Nathan didn't hesitate for a microsecond. In one fluid motion, he pulled a customized Sig Sauer 9mm from a shoulder holster under his arm and chambered a round.
"They know Ashford failed," Nathan muttered, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "They’re coming to finish the job before we can extract the boys."
"Who are they?" I asked, already moving to the bedside, disconnecting the saline IVs and wrapping Marcus and Mason in thick woolen blankets.
"The Castiglione syndicate," Nathan said darkly. "They’ve been trying to force a merger for three years. With my boys gone and me incapacitated by grief, the board of our legitimate shipping enterprise would have been forced to sell out."
A bullet shattered the upper pane of the bedroom window, spraying tempered glass across the floor.
I dropped instantly, pulling the twins beneath the sturdy mahogany frame of the medical bed. Mason whimpered in his sleep, his little hands clutching instinctively at my jacket.
"Stay down!" Nathan barked. He moved to the edge of the window frame, leaned out, and fired three controlled double-taps into the darkness below. A scream was cut short in the courtyard.
"Nathan, the boys cannot survive a firefight," I said, my voice cutting through the panic. "Their cardiovascular systems are fragile. The shock alone will induce cardiac arrhythmia."
"There is an emergency extraction tunnel beneath the wine cellar," Nathan said, reloading with mechanical precision. "It leads to a hidden boathouse on the sound. But we have to cross sixty yards of open corridor."
"I'll take Mason. You take Marcus."
"Sarah—" Nathan looked at me, a flash of genuine respect in his dark eyes. "If you run, you survive. You didn't sign up for a turf war."
"I took the job, Mr. Coleman. That means I protect the boys until my contract is terminated."
A grenade thudded against the corridor wall outside.
BOOM.
The reinforced oak doors of the east wing buckled inward under the blast of a breaching charge. Plaster rained down from the ceiling as smoke poured into the room.
Two heavily armed operators clad in black tactical armor entered through the smoke, their laser sights sweeping the room.
Before the first shooter could level his carbine at the bed, I vaulted off the edge of the desk. I drove the sharp corner of a heavy brass desk lamp straight into the weak point between his helmet and neck collar. The man gasped, his rifle dropping. I caught the weapon mid-fall, stepped behind his stumbling body to use him as a human shield, and fired three rounds into the chest plate of his partner.
The second operator collapsed with a dull thud.
Nathan stood frozen for half a heartbeat, looking at me holding the tactical rifle with textbook recoil control.
"Field medic," Nathan muttered, a ghost of a dangerous smirk touching his lips. "Right."
"We move now," I said, slinging the rifle across my shoulder and scooping Mason into my arms. Nathan scooped Marcus against his chest with his left arm, his pistol raised in his right.
We burst into the smoky corridor.
The mansion had become a war zone. The sound of automatic gunfire reverberated through the ventilation shafts. Gerald was holding the top of the grand staircase, his service weapon barking with lethal efficiency as he held off four attackers climbing from the foyer.
"Go, Mr. Coleman!" Gerald roared, taking cover behind a marble pillar as chips of stone exploded around him. "The cellar door is primed! Roman is waiting at the waterline!"
"Gerald, fall back with us!" Nathan ordered.
May you like
"I’m buying you your three minutes, sir! Take care of the boys!"
We sprinted past the staircase and dove into the service elevator shaft, descending into the damp, stone-lined subterranean vaults beneath the estate.
