Chapter 6 - The Siege of the Estate
The lights in the guest suite flickered once and died, plunging the room into sudden, suffocating darkness.
Outside in the hallway, the sound of heavy gunfire echoed like thunderclaps against the marble pillars. Shouting voices, breaking glass, and the frantic barking of security dogs shattered the quiet evening.
Stellan moved with terrifying speed.
In a fraction of a second, he crossed the room, pulling a heavy tactical pistol from his shoulder holster and checking the chamber with a crisp, lethal click.
“Get down on the floor behind the bed,” Stellan commanded, his voice dropping into absolute, razor-sharp authority.
“Stellan, what’s happening?!” Selene cried out, clutching Fern against her chest as she dropped to her knees behind the heavy oak bed frame.
“Dante Rossi,” Stellan growled, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. “He thinks he can come into my house and take what’s mine.”
He knelt beside her for a split second, his hand reaching out to gently touch Fern’s head, then grazing Selene’s cheek.
“Stay here. Do not make a sound. If the door opens and it’s not me, use the emergency panic button beneath the nightstand. There’s a reinforced panic room behind the bookshelf. Do you understand?”
“Stellan, don’t go out there—there are too many of them—”
“I built this empire with blood, Selene,” Stellan whispered fiercely, his gray eyes burning through the darkness. “Nobody touches my daughter.”
He stood up, pivoted, and vanished into the darkened hallway just as a grenade detonated in the courtyard below, shaking the entire foundation of the mansion.
The next twenty minutes were the longest of Selene’s life. Gunfire echoed through the halls of the east wing—suppressed automatic weapons, shouting men, the shattering of crystal chandeliers, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Selene wrapped her arms around Fern, burying her face in her baby’s soft hair, whispering desperate, silent prayers into the dark.
Suddenly, the door to the suite burst open.
A heavy shadow silhouetted against the dim emergency lights stepped into the room.
Selene’s heart stopped. She reached blindly for the panic button beneath the nightstand.
“Selene,” a voice growled.
It was Stellan.
He was breathing heavily, his white shirt stained with blood—not his own—and his knuckles bruised and bleeding. He swept into the room, locking the heavy steel door behind him and sliding the deadbolts into place.
“It’s over,” Stellan breathed, leaning against the door for a brief moment to catch his breath. “The advance team is neutralized. Dante’s men made it past the gate, but they didn't make it past the foyer.”
Selene stood up slowly, her knees trembling so badly she could barely support her weight. “Are you hurt?”
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“I’m fine,” Stellan said, walking over to her and pulling both her and Fern into his arms in a fierce, crushing embrace.
For the first time since she had walked into his mansion three weeks ago, Selene didn't pull away. She buried her face against his chest—the exact same chest where Fern had found peace hours earlier—and let out the breath she felt like she had been holding her entire life.
