Chapter 8
Giselle gasped, scrambling backward, raising the heavy brass candlestick as the door handle shook again. "Who is it?" she cried out, her voice shaking with terror.
"Are you unharmed, Giselle?" Hugo's deep, unmistakable voice filtered through the heavy wood.
Giselle sobbed in relief, immediately throwing the deadbolt and pulling the door open.
Hugo stepped into the room. He looked like a god of war. His crisp white shirt was stained with soot and a few drops of 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," Giselle gasped, dropping the candlestick and rushing toward him.
"Is a little blood not the cost of cleaning house?" Hugo 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?" Giselle whispered against his chest, terrified of the answer.
"Do you believe Falcone's men will ever pose a threat to us again?" Hugo inquired, stepping back slightly to look down into her face. "Falcone is dead. His remaining men surrendered when they realized they were completely surrounded by my tactical teams."
Giselle swallowed hard, the brutal reality of the mafia world crashing over her. She had delivered a single blow, and Hugo had finished a war. "And Casper?"
"Will you accompany me to the cellar to conclude that piece of business tomorrow?" Hugo asked, a dark, unforgiving shadow crossing his eyes.
Before she could answer, a loud crash echoed from the hallway outside the suite.
Marcus stumbled into the doorway, out of breath, his scarred face tight with fresh tension. "Boss, we have a major problem. It wasn't just Falcone out there. Someone opened the service gate from the inside."
Hugo’s posture instantly shifted back to absolute, rigid alert. "Did they infiltrate the house?"
"Two men slipped past the perimeter," Marcus grunted, raising his weapon. "They are in the west wing corridors right now."
Hugo looked down at Giselle. The danger was not over; it had breached their sanctuary.
"Will you keep yourself safe for me?" Hugo asked, pulling a heavy, suppressed pistol from his holster and pressing it firmly into Giselle's trembling hands.
"I will," Giselle promised, gripping the cold steel of the weapon, her heart blazing with fierce determination.
"Shall we finish this?" Hugo asked, turning his broad shoulders toward the dark hallway.
The dim, plush corridors of the west wing felt suffocatingly quiet compared to the war that had raged outside. Hugo stepped out of the suite, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him, leaving Giselle locked safely inside. He held an assault rifle with terrifying ease, moving with the predatory silence of a hunting panther.
"Are they moving toward the master suite, Marcus?" Hugo asked, his voice a barely audible whisper over the comms.
"They are sweeping the second floor, Boss," Marcus replied softly. "They are looking for you."
Hugo’s jaw firmed into unyielding granite. He navigated the shadowed archways, his polished leather shoes making absolutely no sound on the thick carpets.
Two men in dark tactical gear stepped out from a branching corridor, their weapons raised.
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"Did you think you could infiltrate my home and live to see the dawn?" Hugo asked.
The men spun toward the deep voice, but they were entirely too slow. Hugo fired twice. The suppressed weapon made a sharp, deadly sound, and both men collapsed instantly to the floor, neutralized before they could even pull their triggers.
