The sharp click of the heavy brass deadbolt engaging from the hallway felt like a hammer striking an anvil in the quiet air of the nursery.

“Nitrogen,” I muttered, my eyes darting across the control panel. “He’s overriding the ventilation intake valves to pump inert gas into the bunker.”

On the auxiliary diagnostic screen, a digital progress bar appeared: Nitrogen Purge: 4%... 5%... 6%...

Once it hit one hundred percent, the oxygen in the panic room would be entirely displaced within ninety seconds. There would be no gas mask strong enough, no escape hatch wide enough. We were trapped in a steel coffin.

“Mr. Rossi, what do we do?” Hannah asked, clutching Leo tightly against her chest as the baby let out a sleepy yawn, completely oblivious to the mortal danger surrounding us.

“We don't wait to die,” I said, my mind working at lightning speed.

I ripped open the weapon locker beside the console. Inside sat an arsenal of tactical gear—carbines, flashbangs, breaching charges, and heavy industrial tools.

“Hannah, take this.” I handed her a lightweight polymer 9mm pistol, checking the magazine to ensure it was fully loaded. “I taught my sister how to shoot when we were kids. It’s simple: point, pull the trigger, don't hesitate. If anyone comes through that door who isn't me, you empty the clip.”

She hesitated, her hands trembling as she took the weapon, but her eyes hardened with a grim, fierce resolve. “I won't let them touch him.”

“Good.”

I grabbed a heavy, military-grade thermite breaching torch and a pneumatic hydraulic jack from the emergency kit.

“You’re going to cut through the door?” Hannah asked, staring at the three-foot-thick steel slab.

“No,” I said, sprinting toward the back wall of the panic room. “The panic room was built to withstand attacks from the outside. But the ventilation and plumbing shafts servicing the estate run through the old wine cellar drainage pipes directly behind this concrete partition. It’s only eight inches of reinforced cinder block.”

I ignited the thermite torch. A blinding, magnesium-white flame hissed to life, roaring with the fury of a thousand suns as it bit into the concrete wall. Sparks showered over my shoulders, burning through my shirt, but I didn't feel the pain. Adrenaline and pure, unadulterated paternal rage kept my muscles locked in stone.

Nitrogen Purge: 45%... 50%... 55%...

The air in the room was already beginning to thin. A slight dizziness crept behind my eyes, my breathing turning shallow and rapid.

“Lorenzo!” Hannah called out, her voice straining as she began to cough slightly from the lack of oxygen.

“Hold on!” I roared, slamming the hydraulic jack into the glowing, molten circle the torch had carved into the wall.

I pumped the hydraulic handle with both hands.

Crack! Boom!

The concrete partition shattered outward, collapsing into a heap of rubble and dust that spilled into the dark, damp drainage tunnel beyond. Cool, fresh air rushed through the breach, smelling of damp earth and stale wine—oxygen!

“Come on!” I yelled, scooping Hannah and Leo into my arms for a split second to help them scramble through the jagged opening into the tunnel.