Chapter 5 - The Line in the Sand
The attack came at 3:00 AM on a rainy Tuesday.
The silent security alarms of the estate didn't wail; instead, the soft, pulsing red lights in my bedroom began to flash.
I sat up instantly, my nursing instincts kicking in before my brain was fully awake. I threw on my robe and rushed down the hall to Leo’s room.
The hallway was dark, but the sound of distant, muffled gunfire echoed from the lower levels of the mansion. The fortress was being breached.
I burst into Leo’s room. He was already awake, sitting up in bed, clutching his stuffed bear to his chest, his face pale with terror.
"Tessa," he whispered, his voice shaking.
"Shh, Leo," I said, rushing to his side. "It's okay. Remember the fort game we practiced?"
He nodded, tears spilling over his cheeks.
I grabbed his small medical kit, his oxygen monitor, and guided him toward the back of his closet, where a hidden wooden panel led to a small, reinforced safe room. It was a concrete-lined space with a heavy steel door, designed to withstand a siege.
I pushed Leo inside, but before I could step in myself, a heavy hand grabbed the collar of my robe, throwing me violently backward onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom.
"Where is the kid?!" a rough, scarred man snarled, towering over me. He was wearing a dark tactical vest, a silenced pistol in his hand. He was one of Crane’s mercenaries.
I scrambled backward, my back hitting the base of Leo's bed. "I don't know! He's not here! He went with his father!"
"Liar!" the man yelled, raising his heavy boot to kick me.
I braced for the impact, closing my eyes.
Bang.
The sound was deafening in the tight space of the bedroom.
The mercenary froze, his eyes widening in shock as a single, neat hole appeared in the center of his chest. He collapsed heavily onto the floor, his weapon clattering away.
Damian stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, a smoking gun in his hand. His white shirt was stained with soot and blood—none of it his own.
He rushed over, pulling me up into his arms with a desperate, frantic grip.
"Are you hurt?" he gasped, his hands checking my face, my shoulders. "Tessa, look at me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I sobbed, clutching his wet shirt. "I'm fine. Leo is in the safe room. He’s safe, Damian. He’s safe."
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Damian let out a long, ragged breath, his forehead resting against mine for a brief, intimate second. The terrifying, untouchable king of Chicago was trembling.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
