Chapter 8 - Night of the Siege
The clock on the mantelpiece in the third-floor nursery struck 2:00 AM.
Wren sat in the rocking chair, cradling a sleeping Nico against her chest. The house was too quiet—a heavy, unnatural silence that felt completely different from the peaceful nights they had grown used to over the past month.
Suddenly, the lights flickered and died.
The emergency generators kicked in a second later, bathing the hallway in a dull, amber backup glow. But the hum of the medical monitors stuttered.
Wren froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She stood up slowly, clutching Nico tighter, walking toward the nursery door. Before she could reach the handle, the door swung open, and Dante stepped inside.
He was dressed in dark tactical gear, a Kevlar vest strapped over a black combat shirt, a heavy automatic rifle slung across his chest, and a pistol tucked into his belt. His face was set in granite, eyes dark and hyper-focused.
"Dante? What's happening?" Wren whispered, panic rising in her throat.
"We have uninvited guests," Dante said, closing and locking the heavy oak door behind him, throwing a massive deadbolt she hadn't even known was there. "The Calder syndicate. They're trying to breach the perimeter."
Wren felt the room spin. "The baby—"
"I’m getting you both to the safe room," Dante said, stepping forward and taking her elbow gently but firmly, guiding her toward the far corner of the master suite connected to the nursery. He pressed a hidden panel in the mahogany bookcase, revealing a reinforced steel door that slid open with a heavy pneumatic hiss.
Inside was a high-tech panic room lined with communications gear, weapon caches, and emergency supplies.
"Get inside," Dante ordered.
"No," Wren stopped, digging her heels in. "What about you? You're going out there to fight them alone?"
"I have men," Dante said, his voice hard as iron. "And I have a score to settle. Get inside the safe room, Wren. That's an order."
"I'm not leaving you," Wren said, her voice shaking with a sudden, fierce courage that surprised even her. She looked up into his dark, tormented eyes. "You saved me from Derek's creditors. You gave me a home when I had nothing left. I am not hiding in a box while you walk into a slaughterhouse."
Dante stared at her, the fierce, protective instinct warring with the raw, terrifying realization that he had started to care for her—truly care for her—in a way he hadn't allowed himself to care for anyone since Isabel died.
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Before he could argue, a deafening explosion echoed from the lower floors, shaking the foundation of the mansion. Glass shattered somewhere down the hall, followed by the sharp, terrifying pop of automatic gunfire.
They had breached the front doors.
