Chapter 4 - The Ambush at the Estate
Night fell over the Lombardi estate like a thick, suffocating blanket. Rain lashed against the tall glass windows, echoing through the vast, empty corridors.
I couldn't sleep. I sat on the edge of Oliver's bed, listening to his steady, peaceful breathing. The new medicine was working wonders, but my mind was consumed by thoughts of Sebastian. I kept picturing his face when his leg had twitched—the sudden, vulnerable flicker of hope in a man who had spent twenty years in darkness.
Suddenly, the house lights flickered once, twice, and died completely.
The hum of the air filtration system vanished. The backup generators should have kicked in immediately, but the mansion remained plunged into pitch-black silence.
My blood ran cold.
Emergency backup systems don't fail in a high-tech fortress unless someone cuts them manually.
I slipped out of Oliver’s room and stepped into the hallway. "Hello?" I called out softly. "Gabriel?"
No answer. Only the sound of rain hammering against the roof.
I tiptoed toward the main staircase. Shadows stretched across the walls like grasping hands. As I reached the top of the grand stairs, I saw a shape lying at the bottom. I reached for my phone, turned on the small flashlight beam, and gasped, quickly clamping a hand over my mouth to smother a scream.
It was one of Sebastian's guards. He lay motionless on the marble floor, a pool of dark blood expanding beneath his head.
Footsteps echoed from the lower lobby—heavy, deliberate boots walking over shattered glass.
"Search the east wing," a harsh, unfamiliar voice commanded down below. "Vance wants the therapist and the kid brought to the warehouse alive. If Sebastian refuses to sign over the docks tonight, we kill the boy in front of him."
My heart pounded so violently I thought my ribs would snap. Marcus Vance. He hadn't just called a meeting—he had used the meeting as a distraction to draw Sebastian away while his hitmen invaded the estate to capture us as leverage.
I turned and sprinted silently back to Oliver's room.
"Mommy?" Oliver mumbled, rubbing his eyes as I burst into his bedroom. "Why is it so dark?"
"Shh, baby, stay quiet," I whispered, lifting him out of bed and throwing a dark jacket over his pajamas. "We're going to play a game of hide-and-seek, okay? We have to be as quiet as mice."
Oliver nodded, sensing the sheer terror in my voice. He clutched my neck tightly.
I couldn't go down the main stairs. I knew the layout of the house from my daily walks—the estate had an old servant's passage that led from the kitchen down to the underground wine cellar, which had an exterior storm exit leading into the woods.
Holding Oliver against my chest, I navigated the dark service hallway. Behind us, I heard the heavy sound of doors being kicked open, followed by curses in foreign languages as Vance's men realized Oliver's bedroom was empty.
"They're not here! Search the halls!"
I slipped into the narrow kitchen pantry and opened the hidden wooden panel that led to the basement stairs. We crept down the steep, wooden steps in total darkness, my heart in my mouth with every creak of the floorboards.
We reached the wine cellar. The smell of oak and damp earth filled the air. I made it to the heavy metal storm door that opened up to the backyard garden. I reached for the latch—
CLICK.
The bright beam of a tactical flashlight hit me directly in the eyes, blinding me.
"Well, well," a man rasped, stepping out from behind a row of wine racks. He held a silenced pistol pointed straight at my chest. "The famous doctor and the brat. You made this easy."
I shifted Oliver behind my back, using my body as a shield. "Please," I begged, my voice trembling. "He's just a child. Take me, leave him."
"Vance wants both of you," the hitman sneered, taking a step closer. "Now move before I put a bullet in your knee."
Desperation wiped away my fear. I saw a heavy bottle of vintage wine sitting on a crate right next to my right hand. As the hitman reached out to grab my arm, I grabbed the bottle with all my strength and swung it upward.
CRASH!
The thick glass shattered across his jaw. The man roared in pain, staggering backward as blood and red wine sprayed over his face. He fired his gun blindly—the muffled THWIP of the silenced shot ricocheted off the brick wall.
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"Run, Oliver! RUN!" I screamed, grabbing my son's hand and throwing open the storm door.
We burst out into the pouring rain, sprinting blindly through the muddy estate garden toward the dark line of trees ahead. Behind us, gunshots cut through the night as Vance's remaining men discovered their injured comrade and gave chase into the storm.
