Chapter 10
The kitchen was a stark contrast to the opulent destruction of the banquet hall. Stainless steel counters gleamed under harsh, fluorescent lights. The culinary staff had already fled at the first sound of gunfire, leaving pots boiling over on the stoves and abandoned plates scattered across the prep stations.
Oriana was waiting for him, pressed against the far wall, her breathing ragged and shallow. She saw Eamon burst through the doors, his suit ruined by garbage and plaster dust, his gun drawn. A wave of profound relief washed over her, and she ran toward him.
Eamon caught her with his free arm, pulling her tight against his side. "Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice a rough growl.
"I'm fine, Eamon. I'm fine," she promised, clinging to him.
"We can't stay here," Eamon said, his eyes scanning the exits. "They hit the front doors. They'll have the perimeter locked down. We need to use the service tunnels."
He led her quickly through the labyrinth of the kitchen, heading toward the pantry. He pushed aside a heavy rack of canned goods, revealing a heavy steel security door built directly into the foundation of the estate.
Eamon punched a code into the keypad. The light flashed green, and the heavy door hissed open, revealing a dark, concrete corridor that sloped downward.
"Go," Eamon ordered, pushing her gently inside before following her and locking the door heavily behind them.
The silence of the tunnel was absolute, broken only by the echo of their footsteps. Eamon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tactical flashlight, clicking it on. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the damp concrete walls.
"Who were they?" Oriana asked, her voice trembling in the dark. "Winona's men?"
"No," Eamon said quietly. "Winona didn't have the capital to hire a professional hit squad. And she certainly wouldn't have hired men who would shoot her first. They were sent by whoever gave her that forged document."
"But who would do that?" Oriana asked, staying close to him as they walked deeper into the tunnel.
Eamon didn't answer immediately. His mind was racing, connecting the dots of the evening's chaos. The forgery, the public humiliation, the perfectly timed assault. It was a coordinated decapitation strike against the Rothwell family.
"Someone who knew exactly how to manipulate her vanity," Eamon finally answered, his deep voice echoing off the walls. "Someone who knew the layout of this estate. Someone who wanted me dead and needed a scapegoat."
He stopped walking, turning to face Oriana in the narrow tunnel. The beam of the flashlight caught the fear in her expressive eyes, but also the undeniable strength that had allowed her to strike a woman to protect him.
"Do you understand that we cannot go back?" Eamon asked, his voice low and serious. "The estate is compromised. The syndicate is fractured. If you stay with me, you will be hunted."
Oriana looked up at his handsome, rugged face. She reached out, her hand gently touching the stained fabric of his suit.
"Did you think I was going to leave you, after everything?" Oriana asked, a faint, determined smile touching her lips.
Eamon stared at her, the quiet mutual affection they shared hardening into an unbreakable, lethal bond in the dark tunnel.
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"Then we disappear," Eamon said softly. "And when we come back... we burn them all to the ground."
He took her hand, pulling her deeper into the shadows, leaving the ruined estate and the burning syndicate behind them, stepping into the terrifying unknown of a war that had only just begun.
