Chapter 5 - The First Strike
The attack came sooner than anyone expected.
Three days after the dining hall incident, the rain had cleared, leaving the city wrapped in a crisp autumn chill. Claire had been granted permission to walk with Emma in the private courtyard behind the mansion—a high-walled garden filled with white stone statues, manicured hedges, and late-blooming roses.
Two armed security guards walked fifty yards behind them, pretending to inspect the perimeter while keeping their eyes on the surrounding treeline.
“Look, Mommy! A red leaf!” Emma squealed, holding up a bright maple leaf she had plucked from the ground.
“It’s beautiful, sweetie,” Claire smiled, kneeling beside her. For the first time in years, Claire felt a tiny sensation of peace settling into her chest. The bruise on her cheek had faded to a light yellow mark, and the care provided by the estate staff had restored her strength.
Suddenly, a loud POP shattered the quiet of the garden.
It didn't sound like a gun in the movies; it sounded like a heavy whip cracking against wet leather.
Fifty yards away, one of the security guards collapsed onto the gravel path, clutching his leg as blood pooled onto the gray stones.
“SNIPER! DOWN!” the second guard roared, pulling his weapon and lunging toward Claire and Emma.
POP! POP!
The second guard was thrown backward, his chest taking the impact of a high-caliber round as he crashed into the rosebushes.
Claire didn't scream. Panic turned her blood into pure adrenaline. She grabbed Emma, slamming her small body against her chest, and sprinted toward the stone archway that led to the mansion’s side entrance.
“Mommy!” Emma shrieked, burying her face into Claire’s neck.
Above them, on the roof of the greenhouse bordering the garden, a glass panel shattered. A man wearing a black tactical mask dropped down onto the cobblestones twenty feet ahead of them, blocking the entrance to the house. He held a suppressed submachine gun aimed directly at Claire’s heart.
“Don't move, girl,” the man growled, his voice thick with a heavy Midwestern accent. “Moretti sends his regards to the boss.”
Claire backed up slowly, her body shielding Emma completely. “Please… she’s just a child. Take me, leave her—”
“Both of you are coming,” the gunman sneered, stepping forward. “You’re the leverage that’s going to make Julian Mercer sign over his docks.”
Before the gunman could take another step, a shadow detached itself from the doorway behind him.
A heavy, leather-clad arm wrapped around the gunman’s throat from behind, twisting violently. The weapon went flying across the stones as Julian slammed the assassin back-first into the brick wall with terrifying force.
The gunman gasped for air, trying to pull a knife from his belt, but Julian grabbed his wrist, cracking it against the stone pillar until the blade dropped. Julian didn't use a gun. He fought with a raw, brutal precision that left no room for survival. With two rapid blows to the chest and a devastating knee to the ribcage, the assassin collapsed onto the gravel, unconscious and broken.
Breathing heavily, his suit jacket torn at the shoulder, Julian stood over the downed man. He pulled a heavy pistol from his waistband, checked the chamber, and turned to Claire.
“Are you hit?” Julian barked, his eyes scanning her body with frantic intensity.
“No… no, we’re okay,” Claire sobbed, dropping to her knees on the grass, holding Emma so tight the child could barely breathe.
Julian sprinted to them, dropping his gun into the grass as he dropped to his knees beside them. He pulled both of them into his arms, wrapping his broad body around them like a shield.
“I’m sorry,” Julian whispered into Claire’s hair, his hands trembling as he held her head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have cleared the perimeter higher.”
Claire clung to his shirt, smelling the rain, leather, and gunpowder on him. She could feel his heart hammering wildly against his ribs—not from the physical fight, but from pure, unadulterated terror at the thought of losing them.
Emma pulled her head out from between them, looking up at Julian’s face. “You saved us again,” she snuffled, her small nose red from crying.
Julian pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Emma’s tears. He reached out and wiped her cheek with his thumb. “I told you, little one. No one hurts your mother here.”
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He looked up at Claire, his face inches from hers. The mask of the cold mafia boss was completely gone, leaving behind a man who was hopelessly, desperately in love.
“They crossed the line,” Julian said softly, his voice trembling with a dark promise. “I’m ending this tonight.”
