Chapter 11 - The Uninvited Guest
By midnight, a ferocious thunderstorm battered the cliffside estate. Rain hammered violently against the expansive glass walls of the master bedroom, while lightning illuminated the churning, dark ocean below.
Vincent had not returned to the bedroom. He had been called away two hours earlier when an alarm tripped at one of his downtown shipping warehouses—a suspected diversion, but one he couldn't afford to ignore personally. He had kissed my forehead before leaving, his eyes shadowed with worry. *“The house is a fortress, Emily. Stay in our room. Marcus has twenty men outside the door. You are safe.”*
I tried to read, curled up on the chaise lounge in a warm cashmere sweater, but the howling wind rattled the window frames like a chorus of screaming ghosts. Every crack of thunder made me jump.
Suddenly, the lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the entire estate into suffocating darkness.
A heartbeat later, the estate’s backup generators failed to kick on.
*Silence.*
Then, the muffled *pop-pop-pop* of suppressed gunfire echoed from the lower courtyard, quickly followed by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the marble floors below.
Panic seized my chest, turning my blood to ice.
"Marcus?" I cried out, hurrying toward the heavy double doors of the master suite.
Before my hand could touch the brass handle, the door swung inward.
A figure stepped through the gloom. It wasn't Vincent. It wasn't Marcus.
The lightning flashed outside, illuminating a tall, gaunt man in a soaked trench coat, holding a heavy pistol equipped with a silencer. Behind him stood Tyler, his face bruised, his clothes drenched, and a manic, terrifying grin plastered across his trembling lips.
May you like
"Hello, Emily," Tyler whispered, stepping into the room as the gunman raised his weapon straight at my chest. "Did you really think the big bad mafia boss could keep you safe forever?"
Downstairs, the screech of tires echoed through the storm, followed by the roar of Vincent’s sports car crashing straight through the iron security gates—but between Vincent and the bedroom lay a floor full of fallen men, and between the gun and my heart lay less than ten feet.
