Chapter 6 - The Siege of Isla de la SombraThe sound of gunfire echoing through the stone corridors of the villa sounded like thunder trapped inside a box.
I crouched behind the heavy oak desk in the corner of the master suite, clutching a heavy brass paperweight in my trembling hand like a weapon. The red emergency lights cast long, demonic shadows across the walls. Every pop of a silenced pistol and every heavy thud of boots running across the floor above my head felt like a countdown to my own execution.
Antonio was out there, fighting alone—or surrounded by Petrov’s mercenaries who had breached our supposed paradise.
Think, Sophia, think, I scolded myself, forcing my shaking hands to steady. Crying wouldn't save me. Waiting to be rescued wouldn't save me.
I crawled swiftly across the floor toward the master control panel embedded in the wall near the walk-in closet—a computerized security hub Antonio had briefly shown me yesterday during our tour of the villa. The screen was flashing amber, requesting an override code.
Without thinking, I punched in my birthday—the date Antonio had used on our courthouse marriage certificate, the day he claimed me.
The screen beeped green. Access Granted.
A schematic map of the entire island sprang to life on the display. Small blinking red dots—at least six of them—were swarming the lower terrace and the main courtyard. But right in the center of the security feed, in the underground armory tunnel connecting the beach cove to the villa, a single blue dot was moving aggressively toward the intruders.
Antonio.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy crash echoed from the double doors of the master suite. Someone was hammering against the reinforced wood with a sledgehammer.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The wood splintered slightly around the brass lock. Panic surged in my throat, choking off my breath. I grabbed the heavy brass paperweight and scrambled backward until my back hit the far wall, keeping my eyes locked on the door as the second blow shattered the deadbolt.
The door burst open, and a bulky man in tactical black gear stepped into the room, holding an assault rifle raised and sweeping the shadows. His face was covered in a black ski mask except for a pair of cold, dead eyes that landed on me instantly.
“Found the prize,” the man muttered into his comms unit in thick Russian.
He lowered his rifle barrel just slightly, taking a step toward me with a cruel, predatory grin. My finger tightened around the edge of the brass paperweight, ready to charge him, knowing it was suicide.
Before he could take another step, a deafening roar ripped through the doorway behind him.
Antonio materialized out of the shadows like an avenging angel. Before the intruder could spin around, Antonio’s heavy combat boot struck the back of the man's knee with bone-crushing force, collapsing him instantly. In one fluid, terrifying motion, Antonio drove the butt of his pistol down hard against the intruder's temple, sending the mercenary crashing unconscious to the marble floor in a pool of blood.
Antonio stood over him, breathing heavily, his shirt torn at the shoulder and smeared with dark crimson. His dark eyes snapped up, locking onto mine across the room.
For a terrifying second, neither of us moved. Then, seeing I was unharmed, the deadly tension in his broad shoulders collapsed. He crossed the room in two massive strides, dropping to his knees in front of me and pulling me violently into his arms, burying his face in my neck.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice thick, ragged, and trembling with a raw vulnerability I had never heard from him before. “Sophia, tell me you’re untouched.”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face against his warm, scarred shoulder as tears finally broke free. “I’m fine, Antonio. You came back.”
“I told you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing a desperate, burning kiss against my temple before pulling back to look deep into my eyes. “Nobody touches what is mine. The threat is neutralized. Petrov’s men are dead or captured.”
I stared up at him, the terrifying mafia king whose cold exterior hid a soul fiercely dedicated to keeping me alive. All the walls, all the contracts, all the bitter resentment melted away into the tropical night air.
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“Good,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his bruised jaw with my trembling hand. “Because I’m not signing divorce papers, Antonio. Not now. Not ever.”
A slow, breathtaking smile broke across his exhausted face—a real, genuine smile that made him look less like a monster of the underworld and more like the man I was dangerously, irrevocably falling in love with.
