Chapter 10
Cyrus stared at the beautiful woman before him. She possessed a profound, quiet courage that completely eclipsed the shallow, venomous nature of the elites he normally dealt with. She was willing to run into a gunfight for a child who was not her blood.
"Are you willing to follow my exact orders if I take you with me?" Cyrus asked, his cold eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire.
"Yes," Della promised without hesitation.
"Shall we go get my son?" Cyrus asked.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed her hand, his warm, tattooed fingers wrapping securely around her delicate wrist, and pulled her out of the study into the chaotic, flashing hallway.
The bright, luminous colors of the mansion were gone, replaced by the chaotic strobe of emergency lights and the deafening, rhythmic staccato of heavy gunfire echoing from the eastern wing. The smell of cordite and burning wood filled the air.
Cyrus moved with absolute, predatory grace. He kept Della tucked safely behind his powerful shoulders, his weapon raised, his observant eyes sweeping every corner and gilded mirror for threats. They navigated the marble corridors, the sound of combat growing louder with every step.
As they reached the heavy oak doors separating the main house from the family wing, a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the estate.
The shockwave threw them both against the carved ivory wall panels. 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?" Cyrus shouted over the ringing in their ears, pulling Della back to her feet.
"I'm okay!" Della gasped, coughing through the thick smoke.
Through the ruined doorway, the bright tactical lights of three heavily armed mercenaries pierced the darkness. They were moving aggressively down the corridor, aiming their assault rifles directly at the door to Asa’s nursery.
"Did you forget whose house you entered?" Cyrus asked the empty air.
He stepped out from cover, pulling Della tightly against his side. The roar of his weapon was deafening in the enclosed space. The first mercenary collapsed backward, his chest armor shattered. The second man spun wildly, his weapon firing blindly into the cascading crystal chandeliers before he hit the marble floor.
The third assassin panicked, scrambling toward the heavy walnut doors to escape the absolute slaughter.
"Are you running so soon?" Cyrus 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 flickered as a damaged chandelier swayed precariously above. The smell of cordite and shattered roses filled the air.
Cyrus did not lower his weapon. He kept his extremely short stubble and sharply defined jawline locked in a mask of lethal focus, his eyes scanning the corridor outside for further threats.
"Is everyone unharmed?" Cyrus asked quietly, walking slowly toward the center of the room.
Della rushed forward and pushed open the heavy wooden door to Asa's nursery. The room was dark, but the emergency lights from the hallway cast long shadows across the floor. Asa was huddled under his bed, his hands covering his ears, trembling violently.
"Asa, it's me," Della whispered, dropping to her knees and reaching under the bed frame.
The boy scrambled out, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her sophisticated black maid dress. Della held him tightly, her softly oval face buried in his hair, tears of profound relief sliding down her delicate cheekbones.
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Cyrus stood in the doorway, his broad, powerful shoulders filling the frame. His customized weapon hung loosely at his side. He watched the two people who mattered most to him holding each other, his cold, perceptive eyes softening completely.
"Shall we retreat to the bunker until the perimeter is cleared?" Cyrus asked, his deep voice a steady, unbreakable anchor in the violent storm that had finally begun.
