Twelve minutes of hell.
I sit in the back of the Eurocopter, staring out at the darkening coastline. My hands are clenched into fists on my knees, knuckles white. The vibration of the rotors rattles my teeth, but inside my head, there is only silence.
165 BPM.
Is she screaming? Is she fighting?
Or is the signal lost because the heart has stopped beating?
The thought is a physical agony, a knife twisting in my gut. I have built an empire on violence. I have killed men, ruined families, and dismantled organizations without losing a minute of sleep. But the thought of Ivy—my Ivy, with her paint-stained fingers and her defiance—being touched by Nikolai’s animals makes me want to vomit.
I check the phone again.
SIGNAL LOST.
"Faster," I yell into the headset.
"We’re redlining, Boss," the pilot responds, his voice tense. "ETA two minutes."
Two minutes is a lifetime. A bullet takes a fraction of a second to travel. A knife takes seconds to cut. A life can be extinguished in the space of a breath.
I see the Estate rising from the cliffs. It looks dark. Lifeless.
Usually, the perimeter lights blaze like a beacon. Tonight, it is a black void against the gray ocean.
"Put us down on the lawn," I command. "Front entrance."
"Sir, if the perimeter is breached, it might be a hot zone. We should—"
"PUT IT DOWN!"
The chopper banks hard, descending rapidly. The downdraft flattens the grass. I unclip my harness before the skids even touch the ground. I grab the HK416 rifle from the rack.
As soon as we touch down, I kick the door open and jump.
The silence of the Estate hits me instantly. It’s wrong. It’s the silence of a graveyard.
I scan the driveway.
The gate is twisted off its hinges. A heavy truck has rammed it. Two bodies lie near the guard shack. My men. They are unmoving.
"Luca, take the west wing," I order, my voice a low growl. "Kill anything that isn't Ivy."
"Copy."
I move toward the front doors. They are open. One of the massive oak panels is splintered, hanging by a single hinge.
I step into the foyer.
It is pitch black inside, save for the tactical light mounted on my rifle. I sweep the beam across the marble floor.
Blood.
A trail of it leading toward the stairs.
My heart hammers a rhythm of pure terror against my ribs.Please let it be theirs. Please let it be theirs.
I step over the body of another guard. His throat has been slit.
