Chapter 8
The silver handgun slipped from Lena’s trembling fingers, clattering loudly down the wooden stairs. She fell to her knees, her breath coming in rapid, panicked gasps as she stared at Natalie's lifeless body on the marble floor. She had killed someone. The gentle maid who spent her days polishing silver and comforting a toddler had just taken a human life.
"Lena."
The rough, pained voice snapped her out of her shock. She scrambled down the steps, throwing herself beside Emmett. He was leaning heavily against the wall, his hand clamped over his right shoulder. Blood was seeping through his dark turtleneck, staining his negative space tattoos crimson.
"Emmett, oh god, you're shot," Lena sobbed, her hands hovering frantically over his wound, afraid to cause him more pain. "I have to get a doctor. I have to find Marcus."
"I'm fine," Emmett gritted out, his jaw clenched tightly against the agony. He reached up with his uninjured arm, wrapping his large hand around the back of her neck and pulling her down to him. "Look at me, Lena. Look at me."
She met his dark, intense gaze, her bright eyes swimming with tears.
"You saved my life," Emmett breathed, his thumb brushing a streak of plaster dust and tears from her cheek. "You did what you had to do to protect our family. Do you understand me? You are not a killer. You are a protector."
"I was so scared," she whispered, burying her face into the crook of his uninjured neck, inhaling the scent of smoke, blood, and his sharp cologne.
"I know," he murmured, pressing a fierce kiss into her hair. "But the threat is gone. It's over."
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Marcus rounded the corner, his rifle raised. He stopped short at the sight of the carnage: Natalie dead on the floor, her mercenaries beside her, and Emmett bleeding on the stairs with Lena clinging to him.
"Boss," Marcus said, instantly lowering his weapon and rushing over. "The perimeter is secure. The remaining Voss men surrendered when they heard their boss was dead. We need to get you to the infirmary."
"Theo," Emmett commanded, his voice strained but absolute. "Get my son out of the safe room. Bring him to the infirmary."
"Right away," Marcus nodded, tapping his earpiece to issue the orders. He reached down, helping hoist Emmett to his feet.
Emmett leaned heavily on Marcus, but he refused to let go of Lena’s hand. He gripped her fingers tightly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles as they made their way through the ruined mansion.
The underground infirmary was a flurry of activity. The syndicate's private doctor immediately went to work on Emmett's shoulder, cutting away the ruined turtleneck and prepping him for minor surgery to remove the bullet. Lena stood in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, feeling entirely lost.
Then, the heavy doors opened.
"Mommy!"
A tiny voice pierced through the sterile air of the medical room. Theo broke away from a guard, his little legs carrying him as fast as he could. He was clutching his cream Christmas sweater, his face stained with dried tears.
Lena dropped to her knees, catching the boy as he threw himself into her arms. She buried her face in his neck, sobbing freely now, clutching him so tightly she feared she might break him.
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"I'm here, sweetheart. Mommy is here. Nobody is going to hurt you ever again," Lena promised, rocking him back and forth.
From the medical table, Emmett watched them. Despite the blood and the pain, a profound, peaceful smile spread across his rugged face. The war was won, and his family was finally whole.
