Chapter 7
The maintenance tunnel smelled of copper and old dust. Lila’s breaths were shallow and silent, her heart pounding so loudly she feared the mercenary prowling just feet away could hear it. Henry buried his face in her neck, trembling violently but miraculously remaining quiet.
BANG.
Another access panel down the hall was kicked in. He was getting closer.
"Come out, come out," the mercenary sang cruelly, the heavy scrape of his rifle barrel dragging along the concrete wall echoing in the dark.
Lila looked around frantically in the pitch black. Her fingers brushed against a heavy, loose iron wrench left behind by a plumber years ago. She gripped the cold metal, her knuckles turning white. It was a pathetic weapon against an assault rifle, but she would die before she let him touch Tristan's son.
Suddenly, the heavy footsteps in the corridor stopped.
"What the hell?" the mercenary muttered.
A deafening, sickening crunch echoed through the hallway, followed immediately by a wet, choking gasp.
Lila froze. The heavy thud of a body hitting the concrete floor vibrated through the metal grate of her access panel.
For a terrifying ten seconds, there was absolute silence. Then, a low, ragged voice called out.
"Lila."
It wasn't a taunt. It was a desperate, panicked plea.
Lila shoved the access panel open. The dim light of the corridor flooded her vision. Standing over the dead body of the Rowe mercenary was Tristan.
He was a terrifying sight. His dark tactical sweater was torn and soaked with blood—some his own, most belonging to the men he had slaughtered to get back to her. His swept-back hair was wild, his knuckles bruised and bloody, and his dark eyes burned with an unholy, feral fire. He held his heavy pistol in his right hand, a bloodied combat knife in his left.
"Tristan!" Lila sobbed, scrambling out of the crawlspace.
Tristan dropped his weapons, the heavy metal clattering loudly on the concrete. He crossed the corridor in two massive strides, falling to his knees and hauling Lila and Henry into a desperate, crushing embrace.
"I've got you," Tristan rasped, his voice breaking as he buried his face in her neck, his broad shoulders shaking violently. "You're safe. I thought I lost you. I thought we were dead."
"We hid," Lila wept, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, inhaling the scent of smoke, blood, and his sharp cologne. It was the most comforting smell in the world.
"Daddy!" Henry cried, clinging to his father's tactical vest. "The bad man tried to find us!"
Tristan pulled back, looking at his son's tear-stained face, then down at Lila. She was covered in soot, her cashmere sweater snagged and dirty, but she was unharmed. The sheer, overwhelming relief nearly buckled the knees of the ruthless mafia boss.
"You are the bravest woman I have ever known," Tristan whispered fiercely, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to her forehead. He stood up, effortlessly pulling her to her feet and scooping Henry into his left arm.
May you like
He bent down, retrieving his pistol with his right hand. The softness vanished from his eyes, entirely replaced by the cold, calculating fury of a king whose castle had been breached.
"The vault is compromised," Tristan said, glancing at the partially opened steel door. "We are moving to the secondary panic room beneath the armory. Stay behind me, Lila. I am going to kill every single man who stepped foot in my house today."
