Chapter 4 - The Midnight Siege
The safe room inside the master bedroom suite was built behind a false oak wardrobe. It was a spacious, climate-controlled vault equipped with reinforced steel walls, independent communications, medical supplies, and comfortable leather seating.
I sat on the velvet sofa, holding both girls close as the hours ticked away into the dark depths of the night. Maisie had fallen asleep with her head on my lap, while Rosie sat quietly beside me, tracing the floral pattern of my dress with her tiny finger.
At 12:45 a.m., the heavy electronic lock on the steel door clicked, and the heavy door swung open.
Vincent stepped into the room. His white shirt was stained at the shoulder with dark oil—or perhaps blood—and his dark hair was wet from the rain outside. He looked exhausted, but his posture remained unbroken.
"It's safe now," he said, stepping into the vault and extending a hand to help me up.
I carefully set the girls down on the cushions, stepping out into the main bedroom. "What happened out there?"
"A minor provocation from the Falcone leadership," Vincent said casually, taking off his wet vest and tossing it onto a chair. "They thought my recent distraction meant the Moretti house was vulnerable. I spent the last three hours disabusing them of that notion at the docks."
"Did anyone get hurt?" I asked, looking at the dark stain on his shoulder.
Vincent glanced at his sleeve, frowning slightly. "Not anyone you need to worry about." He stepped closer to me, looking down into my tired face. "You kept them calm. Thank you."
"They were brave," I said softly, looking back toward the safe room. "Vincent, this life... how long can you keep them hidden away from it?"
"As long as it takes to tear down every enemy that threatens them," he answered coldly. But then his eyes softened as he looked at me. "I spent six months believing that protecting them meant building higher walls. But watching you with them these past two days... I realize they don't need walls, Elise. They need a life."
He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. The touch was so light, so remarkably tender coming from a man whose hands held so much power, that my breath hitched in my throat.
"You're shaking," he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing my cheekbone.
"I'm not used to gunfights and safe rooms, Mr. Moretti," I whispered, my heart racing wildly against my ribs.
"Call me Vincent," he commanded softly, his face drifting inches closer to mine. "When we are behind these doors, you don't call me Mr. Moretti."
"Vincent..." I breathed.
Before the moment could consume us, a sudden loud explosion rocked the foundation of the estate.
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The heavy glass windows of the master bedroom shattered inward, sending crystal shards showering across the floor. The emergency alarm system began to wail with a deafening, mechanical roar, blinding red lights flashing through the smoke filling the room.
Vincent instantly tackled me to the floor, covering my body with his broad frame as a hail of automatic gunfire raked across the ceiling wood paneling!
