Chapter 7
The safe room beneath the east wing was a stark, concrete bunker, insulated completely from the chaos unfolding above. The heavy steel door locked with a resounding thud, sealing Elena and Noah inside with Silas and three other tactical guards. The air smelled of filtered ventilation and cold iron.
Noah was sitting on a simple cot, clutching the small, red-ribboned sofa pillow he had tried to give Elena earlier. When he saw her enter, he dropped the pillow and ran to her.
"Mommy!" Noah cried, throwing his small arms around her waist.
Elena dropped to her knees, burying her face in the boy's shoulder, holding him fiercely. "I'm here, sweetie. I'm right here."
"Is Daddy fighting the bad men?" Noah asked, his voice trembling as he looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.
"Your daddy is very strong, Noah," Elena whispered, stroking his dark hair, trying to project a calm she didn't feel. "He is protecting us. He will be okay."
She looked up at Silas, who was monitoring a bank of security screens mounted on the concrete wall. The grainy, black-and-white footage showed the grand foyer transformed into a warzone. Marble columns were shattered, and bodies littered the floor.
"How bad is it?" Elena asked, standing up and walking over to the screens.
"The Rowes brought heavy numbers," Silas grunted, his scarred face tight with tension. "But they are fighting on our turf. The boss has them bottlenecked at the main entrance."
Elena watched the screen, her heart in her throat. She could see Lucian moving with lethal, predatory grace, his white shirt stained with soot and debris. He was commanding his men, directing fire, an absolute force of nature amidst the destruction.
"Will they breach the inner doors?" she asked, her hands gripping the edge of the metal console.
"Unlikely," Silas replied, though his eyes never left the monitors. "The reinforced steel won't give easily. But if they bring explosives..."
Before he could finish the sentence, the screen showing the northern courtyard flared white, then faded to static. A muffled, distant boom vibrated through the concrete walls of the bunker.
"They breached the north gate," one of the guards announced urgently. "They are flooding the gardens."
Elena gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "That's right above us."
"Hold your positions," Silas ordered the men, raising his weapon. "Nobody comes through that door unless I hear the boss's voice."
The minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. The muffled sounds of gunfire and explosions continued to vibrate through the bunker. Elena sat on the cot with Noah, rocking him gently, humming a soft lullaby to drown out the sounds of the war. Her exhaustion was completely overridden by sheer, unadulterated terror for the man she had realized she loved.
Finally, the radio on Silas's vest crackled.
"Silas," Lucian's deep, unmistakable voice filtered through the static. "The courtyard is clear. The front is secure. Stand down."
Silas let out a massive sigh of relief. "Copy that, Boss. The package is safe."
"Open the door," Lucian commanded.
Silas typed a code into the keypad, and the heavy steel door hissed open.
Lucian stepped into the bunker. He looked like a god of war. His crisp white shirt was stained with soot and blood, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular, tattooed arms. The neat stubble on his jawline was dark with ash, and a nasty cut ran across his high-bridged nose. Yet, his posture remained unbowed, and his cold, observant eyes swept the room instantly, finding her in the dim light.
"You're bleeding," Elena gasped, rushing toward him, entirely forgetting her place.
"Is a little blood not the cost of cleaning house?" Lucian asked, catching her by the waist as she collided with his chest. His large, tattooed hand came up to rest gently on the back of her head, holding her close. The smell of gunpowder and expensive cologne enveloped her.
"Is it over?" Elena whispered against his chest, terrified of the answer.
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"Do you believe the Rowe family will ever pose a threat to us again?" Lucian inquired, stepping back slightly to look down into her face. "Arthur is dead. His remaining men surrendered when they realized they were completely surrounded by my tactical teams."
Elena swallowed hard, the brutal reality of the mafia world crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had begged for an hour of sleep, and Lucian had finished a war.
