Chapter 9 - The Siege of the Westchester Estate
The digital clock on the bedside table read 4:15 AM.
Leah was sleeping peacefully in the massive four-poster bed of the master suite—a room Damian had insisted we move into immediately after the vault meeting—her small body curled up in the center of the plush mattress, clutching her worn velvet bunny.
I sat in a velvet armchair by the window, staring out into the foggy darkness of the Westchester woods, listening to the distant, muffled sound of perimeter patrols.
Every rustle of the wind through the oak trees made my heart skip a beat.
Every shadow cast by the outdoor security floodlights looked like an approaching threat.
Suddenly, the rhythmic hum of the estate's advanced security system died.
The soft amber lights on the smart-home control panel flickered once... twice... and then went completely dark.
In the span of three seconds, the mansion plunged into an unnatural, absolute silence.
The central heating hummed to a halt.
The soft white glow of the hallway sconces winked out.
My breath hitched in my throat.
Power outage.
Or worse—a systematic electronic override.
I stood up so fast my knees wobbled, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I tiptoed over to the bed, my bare feet making no sound against the thick Persian rug, and gently pulled the velvet duvet up over Leah's shoulders.
"Stay asleep, my sweet girl," I whispered, fighting back the hot panic threatening to choke me. "Mama is right here."
I turned toward the heavy mahogany door of the master suite, creeping across the room with my breath held in my chest.
As I reached out to press my ear against the wood, a muffled thud echoed from the hallway outside.
Followed by the unmistakable, metallic click of a silenced pistol being cocked.
My blood ran cold.
They were inside.
The Moretti syndicate hadn't waited for Damian to leave the country; they had tracked him, watched him board his private jet, and immediately launched a surgical strike against the estate while the master was away.
I backed away from the door slowly, my hands trembling violently as I scanned the room for a weapon, a heavy lamp, anything to defend my child.
The doorknob of the suite began to turn.
Slowly.
Silently.
May you like
The heavy brass handle rotated a quarter turn... then half a turn...
I sprinted toward the massive walk-in wardrobe, slipping inside just as the bedroom door clicked open and heavy, deliberate footfalls stepped onto the hardwood floor of the suite.
