Chapter 6 - Siege at Lake Forest
The attack came at 2:14 AM—exactly one week to the minute after Leo stopped breathing.
The quiet, picturesque Lake Forest estate was suddenly shattered by the deafening roar of automatic gunfire echoing across the manicured lawns. Glass windows in the grand foyer blew inward in a cascade of glittering shards. Automated security alarms shrieked through the night air, mingling with the heavy thud of combat boots on the gravel driveway.
"They're breaching the east wing!" Dominic barked into a tactical radio, firing a burst from his submachine gun through a shattered window.
In the nursery on the third floor, Fiona had barricaded the door with a heavy oak dresser. She held sleeping Leo tightly against her chest with one arm, while her right hand gripped the Glock 26 Alessio had given her. Her heart pounded in her ears like a war drum, but her hands were steady. Her years in the trauma ward had prepared her for chaos, but this was a different kind of war.
Through the baby monitor, she heard the terrifying sounds of close-quarters combat downstairs—shouts, breaking wood, and the unmistakable rapid-fire crack of assault rifles.
"Alessio," she whispered into her radio headset. "Status report!"
"Hold your position, Fiona!" Alessio's voice crackled back over the comms, heavy with exertion and panting slightly. "We've got three of Moretti's men in the foyer. Dominic is handling the flank. I'm coming up."
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thundered up the third-floor staircase. Not the measured, heavy stride of Alessio or Dominic. These footsteps were rushed, chaotic, heavy.
Someone made it past the second-floor defense.
Fiona backed away toward the corner of the nursery, shielding Leo with her entire body. She raised the Glock 26, her finger resting nervously on the trigger guard, her eyes locked on the heavy oak door.
Bang!
A heavy kick splintered the door frame. The wood cracked, and a masked operative wearing tactical gear burst into the room, holding a suppressed carbine. He spotted Fiona instantly and raised his weapon.
"Got the nanny!" the intruder shouted into his radio. "Target secured—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
Bang!
Fiona squeezed the trigger. The recoil jolted up her arm, deafening in the small nursery. The bullet caught the operative squarely in his tactical vest, spinning him backward against the wall. He dropped his weapon and slid down to the floor, gasping for air.
Fiona stood frozen, smoke curling from the barrel of her gun. She had just shot a man. Her hands shook violently now, the adrenaline finally breaking through her professional barrier.
Before she could process what she had done, another shadow lunged through the broken doorway. Fiona screamed, raising her gun to fire again—
"Fiona! Stop! It's me!"
Alessio rushed into the room, his clothes stained with blood—not his own—his assault rifle smoking in his hands. He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: the downed operative groaning on the floor, Fiona standing over the crib, shaking from head to toe, holding the gun with white-knuckled desperation.
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Alessio dropped his rifle, crossed the room in two strides, and gently knocked the gun out of her hand, letting it clatter to the floor. Then, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest alongside the baby.
"You're okay," Alessio breathed, burying his face in her hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
