Chapter 8 - The Siege of the Estate
The first explosion rocked the outer security gate at precisely 11:42 PM.
The shockwave rattled the massive windows of the grand foyer. Inside the safe room behind the library, Maya whimpered, pressing her face into Clara’s shoulder.
"It's okay, angel," Clara whispered, rocking the little girl back and forth, though her own heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She could hear the muffled pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire echoing through the stone corridors above them.
Upstairs, Damian Vance moved through the shadows of the west wing like a ghost.
He didn't need an army. He knew every blind spot, every creak in the floorboards, every shadow of his own home. As three of Viktor’s mercenaries kicked open the double doors of the dining room, Damian dropped from the vaulted ceiling beam behind them.
Two suppressed shots. Two bodies hit the Persian rug.
The third mercenary spun around in blind panic, but Damian’s boot kicked the weapon from his hands, slamming the man's head against the heavy mahogany dining table with bone-crushing force.
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"Tell Viktor," Damian hissed into the bleeding man's ear, "that he picked the wrong house."
Within fifteen minutes, the siege was over. Julian’s men had effectively neutralized the remaining intruders in the courtyard. The threat was dismantled before it even breached the inner sanctum.
