Chapter 8 - Blood in the Harbor
The fragile peace of the cliffside fortress shattered late one rainy Thursday evening when the security alarms began to wail across the estate. Sloan jolted awake in the massive mahogany bed in the master suite, the red emergency lights flashing against the dark walls. Dante was already out of bed, pulling a heavy tactical holster across his chest and strapping a custom-built sidearm beneath his arm with terrifying speed.
“Stay in the safe room behind the library,” Dante ordered, his voice clipped and absolute as he locked the reinforced steel partition open.
“What's happening?” Sloan demanded, grabbing his arm before he could turn away.
“Remnants of your father's former associates trying to leverage a sinking ship,” Dante said coldly, his eyes turning glacial. “They think taking you will force my hand.”
“Then let me go with you,” Sloan fired back, shocking them both. “I am not going to hide like a frightened child while people hunt me down for my father's sins.” Dante stared at her for a fraction of a second, evaluating her resolve, before nodding once.
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“Stay behind me. No heroics.” They moved swiftly through the darkened corridors of the estate as the sound of shattering glass echoed from the lower levels. Armed intruders clad in tactical gear had breached the lower courtyard, attempting to cut the estate's power grid. Dante’s security detail engaged them in the grand hallway, the sharp cracks of suppressed gunfire shattering the eerie silence of the night. Sloan stayed low, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her mind remained ice-cold. She watched as Dante neutralized two intruders near the sweeping staircase with cold, calculated precision, moving like a shadow through the smoke. But as a third attacker emerged from the shadows with a weapon raised toward Dante's blind spot, Sloan didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy bronze statue from the console table and hurled it with all her might, striking the intruder squarely across the temple and sending him crashing to the floor unconscious. Dante spun around, his weapon trained, before realizing the threat was neutralized. He looked down at the unconscious man, then up at Sloan, a slow, dangerous smirk breaking across his scarred face.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dante murmured, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the reinforced panic room as the final echoes of gunfire faded into absolute silence.
