Chapter 3 - Crossfire in the Archives
The heavy brass handle of the west parlor door rattled violently.
Sophia pulled Emma back, pressing her daughter against the far corner of the room behind a heavy oak armoire. Her heart hammered against her throat. She looked around frantically for another exit—there was a narrow service door concealed behind the velvet drapes, but where did it lead?
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Emma whimpered, tears welling in her big eyes.
“Shh, baby, look at my eyes. Mommy’s right here. Nothing is going to touch you,” Sophia whispered fiercely, her fingers closing around a heavy brass fireplace poker she had snatched from the hearth.
The lock clicked. The bolt sheared away with a grinding screech as someone used a hydraulic breaching tool from the outside.
The door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was not a syndicate assassin, but a tall man with tired eyes and a rumpled suit—the exact man Emma had seen hiding the device beneath the desk.
His name was Julian. He was Beatrice’s personal assistant and security liaison.
Julian stepped into the room, holding a suppressed pistol low at his side. His eyes swept across the parlor until they landed on the corner behind the armoire. He looked exhausted, his shoulders heavy with a profound, crushing reluctance.
“I didn't want this,” Julian said softly, his voice trembling slightly as he raised the weapon. “I told her the child didn't see anything important. But Beatrice doesn't leave loose ends.”
Sophia stepped in front of Emma, raising the heavy brass poker like a spear. Her hands shook, but her stance was unyielding.
“Step away from her,” Sophia snarled, channeling every ounce of protective fury she possessed. “If you want to hurt her, you go through me first.”
Julian looked at Sophia, his sad eyes reflecting a deep, irreparable sorrow. “You’re just a housekeeper, Mrs. Reyes. You shouldn't have been working late tonight. None of this was supposed to involve the staff.”
“Then walk away,” Sophia challenged, her voice steadying. “Damiano Moretti knows about the bomb. He’s in his office right now with Beatrice. The moment he walks out of that room, your whole conspiracy is dead.”
Julian’s expression hardened, a flicker of panic cutting through his melancholy. “He won’t walk out.”
He raised the barrel of the gun.
Sophia braced herself, preparing to charge forward—when suddenly, the window behind Julian shattered into a million sparkling shards of glass.
A dark figure vaulted through the broken window frame with cat-like agility. Before Julian could turn, a heavy combat boot slammed squarely into his chest, sending him crashing backward across the parquet floor. His pistol flew from his grip, skittering across the rug and sliding under the sofa.
The intruder landed in a crouch, dressed in tactical gear, his face obscured by a dark balaclava. He pulled down the mask, revealing the scarred, rugged face of Marcus, Damiano’s head of security.
“Are you ladies alright?” Marcus barked, sweeping his assault rifle toward the groaning assassin on the floor.
“We’re—we’re okay!” Sophia gasped, dropping the poker as her knees finally gave out. She dropped to the floor, pulling Emma into her arms and sobbing into her hair.
Marcus kept his rifle trained on Julian, who was struggling to sit up, clutching his bruised ribs.
“Boss wants the mother and child secured in the subterranean vault immediately,” Marcus said into his shoulder radio. “And get a cleanup crew in the west parlor. We have a traitor to process.”
Julian let out a bitter, choking laugh as Marcus hauled him up by his collar. “You think capturing me matters? Victor is already in the main courtyard with forty armed men. The peace summit is a slaughterhouse waiting to happen.”
Marcus slammed the butt of his rifle against Julian’s jaw, knocking him unconscious with a dull thud. He looked down at Sophia.
May you like
“Can you walk?” Marcus asked bluntly.
Sophia nodded, standing up and gripping Emma’s small, warm hand. “Lead the way.”
