Chapter 6 - A Dangerous Alliance
My heart stopped. The phone felt like ice in my hand. I stared at the message, the words burning into my mind. Every instinct as a nurse screamed at me to analyze the threat, but my heart panicked at the thought of Vincent in harm's way.
I rushed to Evelyn’s room first, opening the door silently. She was sleeping peacefully, her breathing steady. Outside her door, two armed guards stood vigilant.
Instead of running out to the lawn like a foolish heroine in a novel, I walked straight up to Frank, who had returned from my house an hour earlier and was stationed at the top of the main staircase.
"Frank," I whispered urgently, showing him the screen.
Frank’s eyes narrowed into slits of steel. He didn't panic; he reacted with military precision. He tapped his earpiece immediately. "Red alert. Perimeter breach suspect on the East sector. Thermal sweeps, now. Do not inform the Boss yet; keep him focused on the warehouse operation."
He looked at me, a newfound respect gleaming in his tough eyes. "You did the right thing, Claire. Most people would have run out there or panicked."
"Is Vincent in danger?" I demanded, clutching his forearm.
"The Boss can handle himself," Frank said grimly. "Moretti is trying to draw our security away from the house to take a hostage. He thinks you're the weak link."
Before Frank could finish his sentence, the sharp crack of a muffled gunshot echoed from the edge of the woods near the East Lawn, followed immediately by the blaring sound of the estate's internal alarm.
"Get inside Mrs. Mercer's room! Now!" Frank ordered, drawing a heavy handgun from his shoulder holster.
I ran into Evelyn’s room just as she was waking up, confused by the sirens. "Claire? What is that sound?"
"Stay down, Evelyn," I said calmly, rushing to her side and helping her onto the floor behind the reinforced solid mahogany bed, covering her with blankets. "The house is on lockdown."
"Moretti," Evelyn spat, her eyes flashing with a fierce, aristocratic rage. "That miserable coward."
For twenty agonizing minutes, the sounds of distant shouting and muffled gunfire echoed outside the thick estate walls. I stayed on the floor, holding Evelyn’s hand, repeating the prayer in my mind over and over, holding onto the belief that Vincent would return safely.
Finally, the bedroom door flew open.
Vincent stood in the doorway. His coat was gone, his white shirt was stained with dark mud and blood—none of it his own—and his dark eyes swept the room frantically until they landed on me.
"Claire!"
I sprang up from the floor and ran to him. He caught me in his arms, lifting me slightly off my feet, pulling me against his hard chest with a desperate, suffocating force. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of rain, gunpowder, and his distinct cologne.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his hands framing my face, checking me for injuries with frantic thoroughness. "Did anyone touch you?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I sobbed softly, resting my palms against his cheek. "Frank took care of it. I gave him the message."
Vincent breathed out a ragged sigh, pressing his forehead against mine. "You brilliant, brave woman. You saved this house tonight."
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"Vincent," Evelyn’s voice called out sternly from behind the bed. "Will someone please help me up? My stroke ruined my leg, not my dignity!"
Despite the residual terror hanging in the air, Vincent let out a quiet, breathless laugh, turning to help his mother. But as he moved, I saw the fierce, unyielding pledge in his eyes. The war with his enemies was over; tonight had sealed their fate. He was going to end it once and for all—not just for his family, but for me.
