Chapter 5 - Darkness at the Gates
The silence that followed the blackout was deafening.
Instantly, red emergency backup lights hummed to life along the baseboards, casting long, eerie shadows across the dining room walls.
Royce didn't hesitate. In a split second, he was on his feet, pulling a sleek black handgun from a concealed holster beneath his arm and stepping firmly in front of Della.
"Franka!" Royce called out into his earpiece communicator. "Status!"
Static crackled over the earpiece. "Mr. Calloway! The primary power grid was cut from the main junction outside the perimeter! Someone used a high-frequency EMP blast to disable the electronic security gates! We have multiple armed hostiles inside the west gardens!"
"Get the backup generators online!" Royce ordered, his voice cold and steady despite the chaos. "Lock down the safe room in the basement!"
He turned to Della, wrapping his free arm securely around her waist to support her. "We're moving. Keep low and stay behind me."
Della held onto his shirt tightly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Royce... the baby..."
"I won't let anyone touch you," he promised, his voice a low, fierce whisper against her ear.
They moved quickly through the darkened corridors of the manor. Outside, the muffled sound of silenced gunfire broke through the roaring storm. Julian’s mercenaries had bypassed the outer perimeter and were advancing rapidly through the gardens.
As they reached the central staircase leading down to the underground safe room, the massive stained-glass window at the end of the hall exploded inward in a shower of sharp, glittering shards.
Three men dressed in tactical black gear swung through the window on ropes, landing heavily on the hardwood floor.
"There he is!" one of the men shouted, raising an automatic rifle.
Before the mercenary could squeeze the trigger, Royce raised his weapon. Three rapid, precise gunshots echoed through the corridor. The lead mercenary dropped instantly.
Royce grabbed the second man by his vest, spinning him into the path of the third mercenary's gunfire before driving his elbow violently into the third attacker's jaw, sending him crashing over the wooden balustrade to the floor twenty feet below.
Della gasped, pressing her back against the wall, her hand clutched over her mouth. She had never seen Royce like this—a ruthless, lightning-fast force of nature who moved with terrifying precision.
"Clear!" Royce barked, turning back to grab Della’s hand.
They rushed down the private staircase into the basement level, where a massive steel blast door stood open. Franka was waiting inside, holding an assault rifle, her face bruised and smeared with soot.
"The team is holding the front courtyard, Mr. Calloway," Franka said quickly, her breath coming in heavy gasps. "But Julian used an underground drainage shaft to bypass the perimeter alarms! He’s already inside the house!"
"Get Della inside the vault," Royce ordered, pushing Della gently into the reinforced steel room. "Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me."
"Royce, no!" Della cried out, catching his arm before he could step back into the hallway. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at him. "Don't leave me! Come inside!"
Royce paused, looking down at her. His cold, deadly eyes melted for a brief second, filling with an overwhelming warmth.
He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin.
"I have to end this, Della," Royce whispered against her hair. "Julian won't stop until he’s dead or I am. I won't let him spend another day threatening you or our future."
He pulled back, giving her a small, confident smile that made her heart ache.
"Lock the door, Franka," Royce commanded, stepping backward out into the corridor.
"Royce!" Della screamed as the massive steel door slowly slid shut, heavy locking bolts snapping into place with a definitive, echoes-filled CLANG.
Della was left in the quiet, climate-controlled sanctuary of the vault. She collapsed into a comfortable armchair, her body trembling uncontrollably as she cupped her belly.
"Please," she prayed into the darkness, tears streaming down her face. "Please come back to me. Please be safe."
Outside the vault, Royce stood alone in the dimly lit corridor. He reached down, unbuttoned his vest, and tossed it aside, pulling a second magazine from his belt and slapping it into his pistol with a crisp, lethal metallic click.
He didn't head for the exit.
He turned and walked toward his grand study—the heart of his estate, where the bloodstained cloth of the woman he loved still hung on the wall.
He knew his uncle. Julian would go straight to the office to destroy the symbol of Royce’s salvation.
As Royce stepped into the dark, rain-streaked study, a shadow detached itself from the high leather armchair behind the desk.
"You always were predictable, nephew," a raspy, bitter voice echoed through the dark room.
Julian Calloway stepped into the moonlight filtering through the high windows, holding a silver revolver aimed directly at Royce’s chest.
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Behind him, standing near the shattered doorway, was Harlan Vance, holding a trembling pistol of his own.
"Hello, Uncle," Royce said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he raised his own gun, leveling it straight between Julian’s eyes. "You should have stayed in South America."
