Chapter 7
Silas, Orson’s fiercely loyal and battle-scarred lieutenant, stood in the doorway. He was breathing heavily, a customized assault rifle gripped tightly in his hands. The intrusion shattered the intimate, quiet warmth of the master suite.
Orson did not flinch, though his hand dropped seamlessly from Maris’s face to the concealed weapon holstered beneath his tailored vest.
“Is the perimeter breached, Silas?” Orson asked, his deep voice instantly returning to the cold, calculating cadence of a warlord.
“Not yet, Boss,” Silas reported, his American accent crisp and tense. “But the Price family knows. Eleanora’s father, Victor, just declared open war. Our informants inside his syndicate say he’s mobilizing every hitter he has. They are heavily armed, and they are heading straight for the estate.”
“Do they think they can breach the iron gates of this compound with mere numbers?” Orson asked, stepping away from Maris and walking toward a reinforced steel safe embedded in the mahogany wall paneling.
“They are bringing heavy explosives, Orson,” Silas warned, stepping fully into the room. “Victor is out of his mind with rage over Eleanora’s imprisonment. He wants blood tonight.”
“Are the outer gates locked and reinforced?” Orson asked, spinning the dial on the safe with practiced, rapid precision.
“Yes, sir. The lockdown protocols are fully engaged.”
“How many men do they have marching on us?” Orson asked, pulling the heavy steel door open.
“At least sixty,” Silas said grimly. “We are outnumbered two to one.”
“Will you distribute the heavy artillery from the armory to the men on the walls?” Orson asked, reaching into the safe and retrieving a heavy, matte-black automatic rifle and several extra magazines of armor-piercing ammunition.
“Already done, Boss. The snipers are in position on the roof,” Silas confirmed. “What are your orders regarding the house?”
“Will you ensure the blast doors on the lower levels are sealed tight?” Orson asked, checking the action of his rifle with a loud, metallic clack. “Will you authorize lethal force the moment they step onto the grounds?”
“Yes, sir,” Silas nodded. He looked over at Maris, who was standing frozen by the fireplace in the oversized cashmere clothes, before looking back at his boss. “Where do you want them?”
“Is the subterranean safe room stocked and secured?” Orson asked.
“It is, Mr. Vale.”
“Will you return to the command center and hold the line until I join you?” Orson asked, dismissing his lieutenant with a sharp nod.
Silas bowed his head respectfully and sprinted out of the room, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind him.
The quiet of the master suite returned, but it was now suffocating, laced with the terrifying anticipation of extreme violence.
Orson turned back to face Maris. He looked incredibly dangerous, a beautiful, lethal weapon dressed in tailored charcoal wool. He walked over to the bed, gently shaking his sleeping son awake.
Asher blinked, his sleepy eyes widening as he took in the sight of his father holding a massive rifle.
“Are we going somewhere, Dad?” Asher asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Will you be a brave boy and go on a small adventure with Maris to the basement?” Orson asked softly, softening his tone to avoid frightening the child.
Asher nodded slowly, sliding out of the tall bed.
Orson turned his cold, perceptive eyes to Maris. She was trembling slightly, the reality of the mafia war crashing down around her.
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“Are the perimeter guards in position?” Maris asked, echoing his earlier words in a desperate attempt to gauge their safety.
“Do you think I would let them touch a single hair on your head?” Orson asked, stepping close to her, his powerful masculine frame radiating absolute protection.
