Chapter 4 - The Sound of a Kept Promise
Inside the private quarters of the East Wing, Matteo was no longer reading. He had changed into a dark, functional suit jacket, his movements deliberate. When Mia entered the room, his hand was resting on the grip of a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol resting on the nightstand.
"Carlo just ordered a full defensive retraction," Matteo said, his voice low. "He sounded like he’d seen a ghost."
"He saw a software loop," Mia said, closing the heavy oak door behind her and locking it. She walked over to the window, keeping herself hidden behind the frame. "The western approach is compromised. We have approximately twelve minutes before the next loop cycle begins, and I highly doubt whoever planned this is going to wait for the morning paper."
Matteo picked up the weapon, checking the magazine with a practiced click. "My father wants me to move to the underground vault. He’s already heading there with his personal detail."
"No," Mia said firmly.
Matteo raised an eyebrow. "No? My father’s vault is built to withstand military-grade explosives."
"And it has exactly one entrance and one exit," Mia said. "If the security grid is compromised from the inside, the vault isn't a sanctuary; it’s a trap. If they lock you down there and cut the ventilation, you’re dead in two hours without them ever firing a single shot."
She walked over to him, her presence small but commanding. "You hired me to keep you alive. My protocol states that we stay mobile. An immobile target is just a target that makes its killers' jobs easier."
Before Matteo could argue, the lights flickered.
It was a subtle stutter at first, the grand crystal chandeliers dimming for a fraction of a second before returning to full brightness. But Mia didn't look at the lights. She looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. The numbers blinked, reset to 12:00, and then went completely dark.
The primary power grid had been severed.
A heavy, oppressive silence fell over the estate, broken only by the sound of the rain outside. Then, from the floor below, came the sound—a muffled, metallic thud followed by the sharp, distinctive crack of a suppressed firearm.
"They're here," Matteo whispered.
"Get behind me," Mia said.
"I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, Callaway."
"I don't care about your capabilities; I care about my contract," Mia said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "Move."
She reached down into her blazer, her fingers closing around the grip of her own weapon. As she stepped toward the doorway, her foot caught the edge of a small decorative footstool. She stumbled forward, her shoulder hitting the wall with a dull thud.
Matteo reached out to steady her, an exasperated remark on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, Mia used the momentum of her stumble to drop flat onto the floor.
A split second later, three high-caliber rounds tore through the heavy wood of the bedroom door exactly where her chest would have been if she had stayed upright. Splinters of oak exploded into the room like shrapnel.
From the hallway, the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Mia didn't hesitate. Remaining on her back, she raised her weapon with both hands, her grip rock-solid despite her awkward position on the floor, and fired three times through the ruined lower panel of the door.
A heavy groan echoed from the corridor, followed by the sound of a body collapsing against the wall and sliding to the floor.
May you like
Mia scrambled to her feet, her expression unchanged. She looked back at Matteo, who was staring at the bullet holes in the wall with wide eyes.
"See?" Mia said, adjusting her blazer. "I told you. My feet are a liability. My hands are a guarantee."
