Chapter 15 - The Return of the King
Marco hadn't gone to the Grand Hotel. He had known the intercepted communique was a feint—a desperate lure designed to draw him away from the estate while Nikolai launched a all-out assault on his home.
He had waited in the treeline with his elite strike team, letting the rats enter the trap.
The Russian mercenary holding Lena never even heard the shot. A single silenced round tore through the back of his skull, spraying black blood across the marble floor. He collapsed instantly, releasing Lena.
Before the other two shooters could raise their weapons, Marco materialized from the darkness of the corridor like a demon unleashed from hell. He moved with terrifying, fluid efficiency—two shots to the chest of the second man, a brutal knife strike to the throat of the third.
In less than four seconds, the foyer was silent, save for the sound of rain pouring through the shattered front doors.
Marco dropped his weapon, dropping to his knees beside Lena where she sprawled on the floor. He gathered her into his arms, his hands frantically checking her body for fresh wounds. "Are you hit? Talk to me! Are you hurt?!"
"I'm fine... I'm okay," Lena choked out, burying her face against his tactical vest, smelling the blood and gunpowder that clung to him. "Your mother... Maya... they're safe in the corridor."
Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. His chest heaved, his entire body trembling with the adrenaline of pure, unadulterated terror. "I thought I lost you," he whispered into her hair. "I thought I was too late."
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"You told me you were always careful," she managed a shaky smile, tears tracing down her cheeks.
He cupped her face in his large, calloused hands, his dark eyes blazing with an intensity that burned away all remaining shadows between them. "I'm done being careful, Lena."
