Chapter 4 - The Ambush in the Corridor
“Boss!” Viktor hissed, his hand instantly clearing his holster as he dropped into a tactical crouch near the door.
Damian didn't panic. Despite the poison still lingering in his veins, he stood up from the wingback chair with terrifying, predatory grace, pulling a suppressed Walther PPK from the hidden compartment beneath the desk.
“They didn't wait for morning,” Damian muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Sullivan knew the poison was too slow. They’re coming to finish the job.”
The heavy oak door of the master suite didn't just open—it exploded inward as a high-velocity breaching charge blew the reinforced deadbolts right out of the frame. Splinters of ancient oak rained across the room.
Through the billows of white smoke, four masked figures in tactical black gear poured into the room, their suppressed submachine guns sweeping the corners.
“Lila!” I screamed, my maternal instincts overriding all self-preservation as I lunged across the rug toward the velvet divan where my daughter was sleeping.
A burst of gunfire chewed through the wall directly above my head, showering me in plaster dust. I threw my body over Lila, shielding her small form with my own, pressing my hands over her ears to protect her from the deafening concussive blasts.
Viktor opened fire instantly, catching the lead intruder in the chest and sending him crashing backward through the broken doorframe. But two more advanced from the flanks, pinning Viktor behind the massive mahogany desk.
Damian stepped out from the shadows of the fireplace.
Even weakened, he moved like a striking viper. Two quick, calculated shots cracked through the smoke. The second intruder dropped instantly with a round through his tactical visor.
The third gunman raised his rifle, aiming directly at the corner where I was huddled with Lila.
My heart stopped. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face into Lila’s hair, waiting for the impact.
Crack!
The gunshot didn't come from the gunman.
Damian had closed the distance with terrifying speed, slamming the heavy steel butt of his pistol into the side of the gunman's helmet with enough force to crack the polycarbonate shell. The man collapsed unconscious onto the floor.
Silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the hiss of the storm outside.
Viktor stood up, kicking the rifle away from the fallen intruder, his chest heaving. “Clear!” he barked, holstering his weapon. He looked over at us. “Elena! The girl—are they hurt?”
I slowly lifted my head, shaking like a leaf. I checked Lila over. Her eyes were wide, blinking rapidly in terror, but she was completely unharmed. She had grabbed her pink hearing aid from the side table and was clutching it tightly in her fist.
Damian stood over the unconscious gunman, his chest heaving, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where the exertion had strained his recovering heart. He slowly walked over to our corner, knelt down on one knee, and extended a steadying hand.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
I looked up into his dark, storm-gray eyes. There was no trace of the ruthless mafia boss who terrorized Baltimore; there was only a man who had just risked his life to protect a maid and her deaf child.
“We’re... we’re okay,” I whispered, placing my trembling hand in his.
Damian helped me up, his grip warm and unyielding. Then he looked down at Lila.
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My daughter didn't cry. Instead, she reached out, touched the small drop of blood on Damian’s chin with her tiny thumb, and then pressed her palm back over his chest, right above his heart.
Damian froze. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as if feeling his own pulse for the first time in years.
