Chapter 6
The hours dragged by with agonizing slowness. Inside the master guest suite, Lena did her best to maintain a facade of calm for Archie’s sake. The toddler sat on the thick Persian rug, completely absorbed in building a towering structure out of wooden blocks. He wore a cozy blue sweater, his rosy cheeks flushed with the warmth of the room.
Outside the reinforced windows, the winter sky had darkened into a bruised, ominous gray. The snow began to fall heavier, obscuring the distant tree line. Every distant sound—a slamming door, a shouted order in the courtyard—made Lena’s heart leap into her throat. She kept one hand perpetually resting on her pregnant belly, feeling the occasional, comforting flutter of the baby moving inside her.
"Is the baby awake?" Archie asked suddenly, abandoning his blocks and waddling over to her.
Lena offered a fragile smile, sitting on the edge of the large bed. "Yes, sweetie. The baby is kicking a little bit."
Archie placed his small, warm hand gently against her cashmere sweater. His eyes widened in wonder as he felt a tiny thump against his palm. "Wow. Hi, baby! I'm your big brother!"
Tears pricked Lena’s eyes. She pulled Archie into a tight hug, burying her face in his soft curls. "You are going to be the best big brother in the world, Archie."
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the suite swung open. Lena gasped, pulling Archie behind her instinctively.
A guard stepped into the room. He was wearing the standard dark suit of Harrison’s men, an earpiece securely in place. He held an assault rifle lowered at his side.
"Ma'am, we need to move you," the guard said, his voice clipped and urgent. "There's been a breach at the southern gate. Marco ordered an immediate evacuation to the underground bunker."
Lena stood up, grabbing Archie’s hand tightly. "A breach? Are they inside the house?"
"Not yet, but they're pushing hard," the guard insisted, stepping further into the room and gesturing toward the hallway. "We have to go now. It's not safe here."
Lena took a step forward, but her instincts, honed by years of quietly observing the mafia soldiers while she cleaned their messes, flared violently. She looked at the man's face. She didn't recognize him. Harrison employed nearly fifty men at the estate, but Lena knew their faces, their habits, the way they spoke.
She looked closer. The man’s suit was slightly ill-fitting around the shoulders. And more importantly, he wasn't wearing the small silver family crest pin that Marco strictly required all internal guards to wear on their lapels.
"Where is Marco?" Lena asked, her voice steadying as she backed away toward the bed.
"He's handling the front line," the guard said, his eyes narrowing slightly, sensing her hesitation. "Come on, lady. We don't have time for this."
"No," Lena said, her clear eyes hardening. "Harrison said I am not to leave this room under any circumstances."
The guard’s demeanor instantly shifted. The urgent, professional facade melted away, replaced by a cold, murderous glare. He raised the assault rifle, aiming it directly at her chest.
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"Celeste sends her regards," the Wren assassin sneered.
Adrenaline exploded through Lena’s veins. Without thinking, she grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the bedside table and hurled it with all her might directly at the assassin's face.
