Chapter 4 - The Ambush
Before I could process the devastating weight of his confession, the library windows exploded into a shower of diamond-like glass.
Deafening gunfire ripped through the quiet night. Mason moved with lethal, terrifying speed. He tackled me to the Persian rug just as a spray of high-caliber bullets shredded the bookshelves where my head had been a second before.
“Get down!” Mason roared, shielding my body entirely with his own.
The Markov Bratva hadn’t waited for Julian to return. They had launched a preemptive strike on the Orlov estate.
Alarms shrieked through the mansion. I pressed my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut as Mason pulled a heavy Glock from the holster at the small of his back. He didn’t panic. The cold, ruthless mafia king had returned instantly.
“Crawl behind the desk, Bella,” Mason ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. He grabbed my arm, dragging me behind the massive mahogany desk as the heavy oak doors of the library splintered under heavy fire.
Dominic’s voice echoed through the comms device in Mason’s ear. “Boss, we have a breach on the west wing. Twelve shooters. Heavy armor.”
“Hold the perimeter. I have Bella. We’re moving to the vault,” Mason barked back.
He grabbed my hand, his grip like iron. “Do exactly what I say. We move on three.”
Three men dressed in black tactical gear kicked through the ruined library doors. Mason didn’t hesitate. He rose above the desk, firing three times in rapid, flawless succession. All three men dropped dead before they could even aim their weapons.
“Move!” Mason shouted, pulling me up.
We sprinted down the hidden servant corridors, the sounds of a full-scale war echoing through the luxurious halls of the estate. Mason’s men were fighting back fiercely, but the ambush was overwhelming. As we reached the steel door of the underground panic vault, a final Markov shooter rounded the corner.
He aimed a shotgun directly at my chest.
Mason threw himself in front of me just as the weapon fired.
A sickening, wet thud echoed in the corridor. Mason grunted, his massive frame staggering backward into the steel door, but he didn't fall. He raised his pistol and put a bullet straight through the shooter's skull.
The man collapsed. The corridor went silent.
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Mason punched the code into the keypad. The vault door hissed open. He shoved me inside, stepping in behind me, and hit the lockdown button. The heavy steel locked into place, sealing us in absolute safety.
Then, Mason dropped his gun and fell to his knees, his hands pressing against his side as dark, crimson blood began to soak rapidly through his white shirt.
