Chapter 8
June reached out, her slender fingers trembling as she placed her hand into Alistair's. His grip was warm, firm, and instantly grounding. The artistic tattoos across his knuckles flexed as he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. The bright, airy light of the dining room felt surreal against the backdrop of the bloody skirmish.
"Are you able to walk, Luke?" Alistair asked, crouching down slightly to address his son, though he kept his weapon raised and his perceptive eyes fixed on the open doorway.
Luke nodded, his rosy cheeks pale and streaked with dust. He scrambled up and immediately grabbed a handful of June’s black maid dress, pressing himself against her leg. The boy’s absolute trust in the housemaid was a glaring testament to who truly cared for him in this vast mansion.
"Shall we proceed to the secure wing?" Alistair asked, his deep voice a steadying anchor in the chaos.
Before they could move, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the marble corridor. Alistair raised his weapon, shielding June and Luke with his broad, powerful shoulders.
"Boss! Hold fire!" a voice shouted.
Four heavily armed security operatives in dark suits rushed into the dining room, their weapons sweeping the area. They were Alistair’s loyal men, responding to the sound of unsuppressed gunfire.
"Is the perimeter breached?" Alistair asked his head of security, a man named Marcus, who stepped over the fallen assassin in the doorway.
"They hit the valet station and the catering prep area, sir," Marcus reported, breathing heavily. "It was a coordinated strike. We neutralized seven hostiles outside, but three slipped into the main house."
"Do you see the three men resting on my floor?" Alistair asked coldly.
Marcus glanced at the bodies, then nodded grimly. "Yes, Mr. Crowe. The immediate threat is eliminated. The estate is going into full lockdown."
"Will you secure Miss Waverly?" Alistair asked, gesturing toward the far corner of the room.
Selene was huddled beneath a champagne velvet chair, weeping hysterically, her sculpted satin gown ruined by the debris. Two operatives hauled her roughly to her feet.
"Don't kill me, Alistair! Please!" Selene begged, thrashing weakly against the guards.
"Did you think your treachery would go unpunished?" Alistair asked, not even looking at her as she was dragged from the luminous room.
He turned his attention back to June and Luke. The housemaid’s elegant posture was rigid with leftover adrenaline, her softly rounded face pale, but she held her ground with a quiet, undeniable strength.
"Will you follow me closely?" Alistair asked, extending his free hand toward June.
"Yes, sir," June replied softly.
They moved swiftly out of the ruined dining room, navigating the ivory-paneled corridors of the mansion. The warm golden light guided them past shattered vases and overturned tables, the physical remnants of the brief, violent war. Alistair led them toward the center of the estate, down a private, highly secure staircase that led to the family's reinforced bunker.
As they descended, the heavy steel door of the safe room sealed shut behind them, cutting off the noise and chaos of the mansion above. The bunker was brightly lit, furnished with comfortable leather chairs and emergency supplies.
Alistair finally lowered his weapon, placing it on a heavy wooden desk. He turned to face June and Luke, his tailored dark suit dusted with debris, but his movie-star handsome face completely unbothered by the violence.
"Are you injured, June?" Alistair asked, stepping closer to her, his cold eyes searching her face for any hidden wounds.
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"No, Mr. Crowe. We are both fine," June assured him, gently stroking Luke’s hair to calm the boy.
"Do you know how exceptionally brave you were tonight?" Alistair asked, his deep voice softening into a rare, intimate register.
