Chapter 5 - The Night of Broken Glass
The backlash was immediate and violent. Two weeks after the boardroom confrontation, the Russian syndicate launched a desperate, coordinated assault on the Kane estate. It was a stormy night, rain blinding the security cameras as heavily armed mercenaries breached the perimeter fence.
Alarms blared through the mansion, a red strobe light bathing the grand hallways in the color of blood.
Clara awoke to the sound of gunfire echoing from the courtyard. Before she could scream, her door flew open. Vincent stood there, a tactical rifle in his hands, a dark smear of soot on his cheek.
"Get the twins. Now!" he ordered.
Clara rushed into the adjoining bedroom, grabbing Eli and Ava, who were crying and terrified by the thunderous explosions outside. She held them tight against her chest, her body shaking, but the training Vincent had given her over the last two weeks kicked in. She didn't freeze. She followed him down the hidden servant stairwell toward the underground bunker.
As they reached the basement corridor, the heavy steel door at the end of the hall exploded inward. Three masked mercenaries stepped through the smoke, their weapons raised.
Vincent pushed Clara and the twins behind a concrete pillar, immediately opening fire. The confined space filled with a deafening roar. One, two mercenaries fell, but the third managed to fire a burst that grazed Vincent’s shoulder, forcing him to drop to one knee.
"Vincent!" Clara shrieked.
The remaining mercenary advanced, his barrel pointing directly at Vincent’s head.
In that split second, Clara didn't think about her fear. She didn't think about the pacifist life she had tried to build. She saw the man who had protected her children, the father her son had called in desperation, about to die. She noticed a dropped handgun on the floor near her feet.
She scooped it up, raised it with both hands, and pulled the trigger just like Vincent had shown her on the firing range.
A loud report echoed through the hall. The mercenary staggered back, a neat hole opening in his chest, before crashing heavily to the floor.
Vincent looked up from his knee, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound, primal admiration. He stood up, ignoring his bleeding shoulder, and wrapped his good arm around Clara, pulling her and the twins close.
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"The perimeter is secure," Marcus’s voice cracked through Vincent’s earpiece a second later. "The threat has been neutralized, Boss."
Vincent looked down at Clara, who was still holding the smoking gun, her chest heaving. "I told you," he murmured softly, brushing a strand of her blonde hair away. "You are a queen."
