The darkness was absolute for exactly three seconds. Then, the emergency red lights pulsed to life, casting the kitchen in a rhythmic, bloody glow.
"Safe room. Now!" Viktor hissed, grabbing my wrist.
The house was screaming. Not people—the house itself. Alarms blared, a high-pitched shriek that pierced my eardrums. Outside, the steady *pop-pop-pop* of suppressed gunfire erupted, followed by the heavy boom of a door being breached.
"Viktor, the safe room is in the basement," I panted as we ran down the service hallway. "If they get inside, we're cornered. We'll be sitting ducks."
Viktor stopped, his eyes darting to the security monitors near the pantry. Three of the screens were static. On the fourth, I saw men in tactical gear—not Dimitri's men—moving through the rose garden with cold, mechanical precision.
Viktor's radio crackled. Yuri's voice came through, distorted by static and the sound of shouting. "Viktor! South gate is gone. They used a truck… breach at the terrace… hold the—"
The radio went dead.
"Yuri!" Viktor yelled into the device. Silence. He looked at me, his jaw tight. "Change of plan. We can't stay. If Yuri's overwhelmed, the house is compromised."
"Where do we go?"
"The garage. We take the armored sedan and burst through the north exit."
He handed me a sleek, cold weight. A Glock 19. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it.
"I don't know how to use this," I whispered.
"Point and pull the tail," Viktor said grimly. "Don't think. If it isn't me or Yuri, you put lead in it. Understand?"
I nodded, my throat so dry I couldn't speak.
We moved. Viktor led the way, his silenced weapon raised. The hallway felt miles long. Every shadow was a threat; every creak of the floorboards was a footstep. We reached the heavy oak doors leading to the main foyer.
Viktor held up a hand. We waited.
A shadow moved across the frosted glass. Then another.
The door burst open.
"Down!" Viktor roared.
He fired. Two shots, surgical and quick. The first man fell. The second dove for cover behind a marble pillar, returning fire. Shards of expensive masonry sprayed through the air like shrapnel.
I was on the floor, my heart trying to beat its way out of my ribs. The man behind the pillar leaned out, his barrel leveling toward Viktor's head.
I didn't think. I couldn't afford to. I raised the Glock, squeezed my eyes half-shut, and pulled the trigger.
The recoil barked into my palm, a jolt of pure energy that traveled up my arm. The man's head snapped back. He slumped against the pillar, a dark stain blossoming on the white marble.
I stared at him. My first kill. He looked so small.
"Maya! Move!" Viktor grabbed my collar, hauling me up. "Don't look at him. He would have killed you. Keep moving!"
We sprinted for the garage stairs. We were twenty feet away when a flashbang detonated at the end of the hall.
White light. Pure noise. My brain turned to static.
I felt myself falling. Hands grabbed me—not Viktor's. I swung the gun blindly, but someone kicked it out of my hand. I heard Viktor shouting, then the sound of a heavy struggle.
"Viktor!" I screamed, but my own voice sounded like it was underwater.
My vision began to clear in jagged streaks. Viktor was on the ground, two men pinning him down, a third slamming the butt of a rifle into his temple. He went limp.
"Grab the girl," a voice commanded.
I scrambled backward, my hands searching the floor. My fingers closed around a heavy glass vase that had fallen from a side table. As the soldier reached for me, I smashed it against the side of his head. He cursed, blood spraying from a jagged cut on his cheek, but he didn't stop.
He lunged. I rolled, kicking out, and scrambled toward the garage door.
I burst through the door into the garage, but my heart sank. The armored SUVs were there, but the tires had been shredded. The engines hissed with escaping steam. Sabotaged.
I ran for the back of the garage, toward the small service door that led to the old wine cellar. If I could get to the tunnels Dimitri had mentioned once, I might have a chance.
I slammed the cellar door shut and threw the bolt. It was pitch black, smelling of damp earth and aged oak. I fumbled along the wall, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
*Clang.*
The door behind me groaned under a heavy kick.
I ran deeper into the racks of wine, the bottles blurring past me like silent witnesses. I found the hidden latch behind a crate of Bordeaux—the tunnel entrance. I pulled it open and tumbled inside, sliding the stone cover back into place just as the cellar door was kicked off its hinges.
I huddled in the crawlspace, my lungs burning, pressing my hands over my mouth to stifle my sobs.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on stone. Slow. Methodical.
A thin beam of light sliced through the cracks in the stone cover. It danced across the dirt floor, inches from my boots. My blood turned to ice.
"I know you're in here, *milaya*," a voice crooned. It wasn't Marco. It was someone colder. Someone who sounded like they enjoyed the hunt.
The stone cover was wrenched back with a sickening grind.
The flashlight beam hit me square in the face, blinding me. I raised my arm to shield my eyes, my heart shattering.
"Found you," the man said. He reached down, his gloved hand wrapping around my throat and hoisting me out of the hole like I weighed nothing.
He pinned me against the cellar wall. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the face of the man holding me. He had a scar running from his eye to his jaw. A Romano captain.
"Marco has been very impatient," he whispered, his thumb pressing into my windpipe just enough to make the world go grey at the edges. "He's been waiting a long time to show the Volkovs what happens to their precious things."
I tried to spit in his face, but my strength was failing.
"Nighty-night, princess," he murmured.
A cloth smelling of sickly-sweet chemicals was pressed over my nose and mouth. I fought, clawing at his arms, but the darkness was faster this time.
The last thing I saw was the red emergency light reflecting off the man's scar.
Dimitri. I failed.