Chapter 10
"Stay close to me," Damon ordered, his deep voice slicing through the blaring noise.
He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, his warm, tattooed fingers wrapping securely around Iris's free wrist, ensuring she still had a firm grip on the puppy. He pulled her away from the fireplace, making sure Milo was tucked safely between them, and moved rapidly toward the reinforced corridors of the family wing.
The bright, luminous colors of the mansion were suddenly drowned out as the estate's lockdown protocols initiated. The golden chandeliers dimmed, replaced by the chaotic strobe of red emergency lights. The deafening, rhythmic staccato of heavy gunfire suddenly echoed from the eastern gates, vibrating through the marble floors. The smell of cordite and burning pine began to filter through the air vents.
Damon moved with absolute, predatory grace. He kept Iris and Milo tucked safely behind his broad shoulders, his weapon raised, his observant eyes sweeping every cream marble column and gilded mirror for internal threats. They navigated the corridors, the sound of combat growing louder with every step.
As they reached the heavy oak doors separating the main house from the private residential wing, a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the estate.
The shockwave threw them against the carved walnut furniture lining the hall. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. The heavy oak doors were blown entirely off their hinges in a blinding flash of orange fire.
"Are you injured?" Damon shouted over the ringing in their ears, pulling Iris back to her feet and shielding Milo with his body.
"We're okay!" Iris gasped, coughing through the thick smoke, her hands gripping Milo tightly while holding the trembling puppy.
Through the ruined doorway, the bright tactical lights of three heavily armed mercenaries pierced the darkness. They had bypassed the outer gates and breached the mansion, moving aggressively down the corridor, aiming their assault rifles directly at the private wing.
"Did you forget whose house you entered?" Damon asked the empty air.
He stepped out from cover. The roar of his weapon was deafening in the enclosed space. The first mercenary collapsed backward, his chest armor shattered by the armor-piercing rounds. The second man spun wildly, his weapon firing blindly into the ceiling before he hit the marble floor.
The third assassin panicked, scrambling toward the heavy mahogany doors to escape the absolute slaughter.
"Are you running so soon?" Damon asked, rising to his full height. He aimed and fired a single, decisive shot. The third man crumpled in the doorway, his body wedging the heavy doors open.
The hallway fell into a terrifying, ringing silence. The warm golden light from a surviving wall sconce flickered, swaying precariously above the wreckage. The acrid smell of gun smoke hung heavy in the air.
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"Iris, take Milo and run to the safe room," Damon commanded, his eyes fixed on the smoke-filled corridor. "Do not stop until the heavy doors lock behind you. I will hold the line here."
Iris didn't argue. She scooped Milo into her arms, the spaniel safely tucked against her, and ran toward the fortified steel doors at the end of the hall. Damon watched them go, raising his weapon with a cold, unwavering stare, ready to burn his own empire to the ground to protect the woman, the child, and the innocent life hidden behind him.
