Chapter 7 - The Shadow in the Nursery
After the poisoning attempt, Blackwood Manor transformed into a fortress under full siege protocol.
Six additional guards were stationed along the perimeter wall.
Every delivery of food, water, and household supplies was subjected to chemical spectrometer testing in the security annex.
Ava’s anxiety spiked to catastrophic levels.
She refused to sleep in her own bed.
She wouldn't let Damian out of her sight unless Natalie was holding her hand.
For three straight nights, Natalie slept in a wingback chair inside the nursery, keeping a soft nightlight on and singing low, wordless melodies until the girl’s breathing stabilized.
On the fourth night, the clock in the hallway struck two in the morning.
Natalie woke with a start.
The nursery was pitch black.
The nightlight was out.
The low, steady hum of the white noise machine had vanished.
Total, absolute silence.
Natalie sat bolt upright, her senses screaming with adrenaline.
Power outages did not happen at Blackwood Manor.
The estate had two industrial diesel backup generators configured to engage within three seconds of a municipal grid failure.
If the power was dead, someone had manually cut the primary conduits.
Natalie slipped off her shoes, moving noiselessly across the carpet toward Ava’s crib-style sensory bed.
Her hand reached into the sheets.
The bed was empty.
Cold panic seized Natalie’s throat.
“Ava?” she whispered into the darkness.
No answer.
Then, she saw the faint silhouette.
Standing by the heavy, leaded glass window was a small figure, staring out into the moonlit grounds.
Natalie breathed a silent sigh of relief and crept across the room.
“Ava, honey, what are you doing out of bed? It’s cold.”
The child didn’t move.
She was pointing a tiny finger through the glass toward the dense treeline near the eastern stables.
Natalie knelt beside her and peered into the darkness.
Through the rain-streaked pane, illuminated by the pale moonlight, Natalie saw them.
Four men in tactical black gear, moving with disciplined, military precision across the manicured lawn.
They carried suppressed carbines.
They had bypassed the infrared perimeter by crawling through the subterranean drainage culvert beneath the old carriage house.
They were thirty yards from the rear entrance.
Before Natalie could move, the heavy mahogany door of the nursery swung open without a sound.
A tall, dark shape stepped into the room.
Natalie grabbed a heavy brass bookend from the window sill, raising it to strike.
A steel-strong hand caught her wrist mid-air, locking her in place with effortless control.
“It’s me,” Damian’s voice breathed against her ear.
The scent of cedarwood, leather, and gunpowder flooded her senses.
Natalie lowered the brass weight, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“There are men on the lawn,” she whispered urgently.
“I know,” Damian replied.
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
He was wearing a black tactical vest over his dark clothing, a custom automatic pistol holstered at his chest.
“The drainage culvert was a deliberate blind spot,” Damian explained, pulling Ava into his arms and wrapping a dark woolen blanket around her.
“I left it open to draw them in.”
Natalie stared at him in disbelief.
“You used this house as bait? With your daughter inside?”
“Moretti’s strike team has been hunting our convoy routes for two months,” Damian whispered, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
“As long as they were hunting outside, Ava was never safe. A snake only shows its head when it thinks the garden is unguarded.”
A sharp, muffled crack-crack-crack echoed from the floor below.
Suppressed gunfire.
Ava didn’t scream.
She buried her face into Damian’s tactical vest, her hands clamping tightly over her ears.
She had practiced this with Natalie every afternoon.
When the loud pops come, become a turtle. Shell up.
“Marcus has the lower floor sealed,” Damian said, handing Ava to Natalie.
“Take her down the private service lift behind my study. It leads directly to the subterranean bunker beneath the carriage house.”
“What about you?” Natalie demanded, holding the trembling child against her chest.
Damian looked at her, his face illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the window.
The pale scar along his jaw looked stark, brutal, and lethal.
“I am going to end this war, Natalie.”
He reached out, his thumb gently brushing across Natalie’s cheekbone, lingering for a fraction of a second.
“Keep her safe. If I am not down there in twenty minutes, Marcus has orders to evacuate you both through the emergency tunnel to the Lake Michigan marina.”
“Damian, don't—”
May you like
“Go,” he commanded.
He turned and slipped into the dark corridor, moving toward the sound of gunfire like an avenging ghost.
