Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT THE FORTRESS FELL
The rain returned on a Tuesday.
It was a torrential, blinding downpour that turned the hills surrounding the compound into slick mud.
Rose was in the library.
She had spent the previous month reading Gabriel’s collection of historical biographies.
She had learned not to ask questions about the black SUVs arriving and leaving in the middle of the night, or the heavy metallic sounds that sometimes came from the basement.
She existed inside a bubble of quiet observation.
At 11:42 p.m., the power failed.
Not a flicker.
The house became instantly black.
The low hum of the heating system stopped.
Silence filled the space, broken only by rain hammering the reinforced glass.
Rose sat motionless in a leather armchair.
She did not breathe.
10 seconds later, emergency generators came online.
The normal lighting did not return.
Instead, dull red security lights illuminated the house.
An alarm started.
Not a piercing siren.
A low, rhythmic pulse that seemed to vibrate through the floor.
Intruder protocol.
Rose rose from the chair.
Gabriel was not home.
He had gone to the docks 3 hours earlier with Cole and 4 other men.
The compound was lightly staffed.
A crackling voice suddenly came through the intercom.
“Perimeter breach at the north gate. Multiple hostiles. Outer cameras are disabled. Lock down the east wing. Protect the asset.”
The asset.
Rose.
She did not wait for the guards.
If attackers had breached the north gate, they were already inside the walls.
The Castellos.
They had discovered Richard’s deception.
His luck had ended.
And they had come for Gabriel’s wife to send a message.
Rose left the library and entered the red-lit corridor.
She did not run toward the east-wing bedroom.
That was a dead end.
A box.
Instead, she ran toward the kitchen.
A deafening crash came from the front of the house.
Reinforced glass shattered.
Gunfire erupted.
Rapid bursts tore through the sterile quiet.
Rose dove behind the kitchen island as heavy boots entered the main corridor.
She pressed herself against the cold stainless-steel cabinets and drew her knees against her chest.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
She reached upward and pulled open the closest drawer.
Silverware.
Her fingers moved past spoons and forks until they closed around the thick handle of a carbon-steel meat cleaver.
“Check the east wing!”
A rough, accented voice shouted from the hallway.
“Find the girl. The boss wants her breathing, but he didn’t say she had to be walking.”
Footsteps passed the kitchen and headed toward Rose’s bedroom.
She held the cleaver with both hands.
Her palms were slick with sweat.
She could not remain there.
Once they found the bedroom empty, they would search room by room.
She needed somewhere unseen.
Rose dropped to her hands and knees and crawled below the island’s counter line.
She reached the pantry.
Opened it.
Slipped inside.
Closed the door.
Darkness swallowed her.
The small room smelled of dried pasta and dark chocolate.
More gunfire erupted.
Closer.
Then the sound of a body striking the floor.
Rose shut her eyes.
She thought of her father sitting somewhere in a smoky room, completely unaware that his daughter was crouched inside a dark pantry gripping a kitchen blade because of his cowardice.
Anger burned through the terror.
She was not going to die for Richard Vain.
The pantry door was ripped open.
Red emergency light flooded the small space.
A man stood in the doorway.
Black tactical gear.
Wet balaclava.
A suppressed submachine gun pressed against his chest.
He saw her.
“Got her. Kitchen.”
He spoke into the radio on his shoulder and raised the weapon.
Rose did not scream.
She did not shrink back.
A raw, furious sound came from her throat as she lunged forward with the cleaver.
She drove the blade upward with all her strength.
The steel buried itself deep in the man’s thigh just above the knee protection of his tactical trousers.
He screamed.
His leg collapsed beneath him.
His finger spasmed against the trigger.
The weapon fired a wild burst into the ceiling.
Plaster and dust rained down.
The gunman fell backward across the kitchen floor, clutching his thigh.
Rose released the cleaver and scrambled past him.
Her foot slipped in his blood.
Her knee struck the tile.
She forced herself upright.
She ran toward the rear service exit.
A 2nd man emerged from the dining room.
He was massive.
A handgun was aimed directly at her chest.
“Don’t move!”
Rose stopped.
Her lungs emptied.
She stared into the black barrel.
The run was over.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness behind the gunman.
It moved with terrifying speed.
Before the man could fire, Gabriel was behind him.
His left arm locked around the attacker’s throat and jerked him backward.
In Gabriel’s right hand was a combat knife.
He drove it into the side of the man’s neck in 1 brutal, mechanical motion.
The handgun fell.
The man’s hands flew to his throat.
Gabriel twisted the blade and pulled it free.
The attacker collapsed like a puppet with severed strings.
Blood spread immediately across the polished concrete.
Gabriel stepped over him.
He was breathing hard.
His suit jacket was gone.
His white shirt was soaked with rain and smeared with dark blood.
His face held nothing but cold, absolute violence.
He looked at Rose.
At her bare legs spattered with blood.
At the violent rise and fall of her chest.
He did not ask whether she was all right.
He crossed the room, seized her arm, and pulled her against him.
Then he pushed her behind his body.
“Hold on to my belt.”
His voice was a low rasp.
“Do not let go. If someone comes around that corner, I’m shooting through them. Make sure you’re behind me.”
Rose gripped the thick leather.
Her fingers trembled so badly she could barely hold on.
But she did.
For the next 10 minutes, Rose moved through a nightmare of darkness, deafening gunfire, and the metallic smell of blood.
Gabriel navigated his own home like a predator clearing its den.
He was ruthless.
Clinical.
He neutralized 3 more Castello gunmen.
Eventually, the front doors burst inward.
Cole entered with a dozen heavily armed men behind him, rain pouring from his massive frame.
“Clear!” he shouted. “Perimeter secure. Stragglers are retreating into the trees. Teams are tracking them.”
Gabriel lowered his weapon.
The tension gradually left his shoulders.
Then he turned.
Rose stood behind him covered in plaster dust and blood that was not hers.
She shook violently.
Her eyes remained fixed on the bodies scattered throughout the beautiful, sterile house.
Gabriel reached toward her.
His large hand was slick with blood.
He gently cupped the side of her face.
His thumb wiped a smear of dirt from her cheek.
The softness of the gesture was startling.
“You stabbed him.”
His eyes held hers.
There was something raw and undeniable in them.
“I didn’t have anywhere to run,” Rose whispered.
Her voice broke.
May you like
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“You’re never going to have to run again.”
