Chapter 8 - The Siege
Back at the Weston estate, the afternoon rain had turned into a thick, swirling fog that blanketed the sprawling lawns.
Inside the grand library, Josie sat on the rug with Mila, helping her complete a watercolor painting of a blue bird. The silence that had once defined the little girl was gone, replaced by soft, musical humming as Mila dipped her brush into the yellow paint.
Suddenly, the estate’s interior security lights flickered twice and died, plunging the hallway into emergency red backup illumination.
Josie’s head snapped toward the heavy oak door.
Down the main corridor, muffled shouts echoed, followed by the sharp, unmistakable pop-pop-pop of a silenced pistol.
“Stay here, Mila,” Josie whispered, her heart leaping into her throat. She pushed the heavy oak library door shut, turning the brass lock from the inside.
She grabbed a heavy brass poker from beside the fireplace, her hands shaking so badly she could barely keep her grip on the metal handle.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway—heavy, hurried boots that didn't belong to Luca or the regular estate guards.
Bang!
A heavy shoulder slammed against the library door. The solid oak groaned, the brass lock holding by a fraction of an inch.
“Clear the rooms!” a harsh voice shouted from the hallway. “Find the kid! Arthur’s second-in-command wants leverage before the feds raid the docks!”
Josie backed toward the far corner of the room, shielding Mila behind her skirts. The little girl clutched Mr. Buttons—the stuffed rabbit she had carried into Callahan’s Pub weeks ago—her eyes wide with sudden terror.
The door slammed again. The wood splintered around the lock.
With a sickening crash, the door flew open.
A heavy-set man in a black tactical vest stepped into the room, a submachine gun raised in his hands. His eyes scanned the library, landing instantly on Josie and the little girl huddled by the fireplace.
“Got ’em,” the gunman snarled into his comms unit.
May you like
He raised the barrel toward Josie.
Josie closed her eyes, raised the heavy brass poker, and prepared to charge—ready to buy Mila three more seconds of life, no matter the cost.
