Chapter 10
The silence in the safehouse was absolute, a terrifying calm before the storm. The city lights far below twinkled innocently, completely detached from the violent warfare brewing in the shadows.
"We need to evacuate," Marcus said, his voice stripped of its usual arrogant calm, replaced by pure, tactical urgency. He pulled a heavy assault rifle from a hidden compartment behind the bookshelf. "If the Romanovs know you are here, this penthouse is a death trap."
"We can't move the babies through the streets, Dad," Brooke argued, standing up. The pain of her recent delivery flared, but she pushed it aside with pure maternal adrenaline. "If they ambush our convoy like they did Cole's, we have no cover."
"We have no cover here if they breach the elevators," Marcus countered, slamming a magazine into the rifle. "I have a helicopter inbound to the roof. We have ten minutes."
The lights in the penthouse suddenly flickered and died. The hum of the city below was instantly replaced by the oppressive silence of a total power failure. Red emergency lights kicked on a second later, bathing the luxurious room in a bloody glow.
"They cut the grid," one of Marcus's guards yelled from the hallway, running into the living room with his weapon drawn. "Boss, the elevator shafts are compromised! We have motion on the stairwells!"
"Hold the choke points!" Marcus roared, chambering a round. He turned to Brooke. "Get to the nursery. Barricade the door. Do not come out until I come for you."
Brooke didn't argue. She ran down the darkened hallway, her heart pounding a frantic, terrifying rhythm against her ribs. She threw open the nursery door, rushed inside, and slammed it shut, engaging the heavy steel deadbolts.
She hurried over to the cribs. Leo and Luna were awake, crying softly in the dark, disturbed by the sudden loss of light.
"Shh, my sweet babies," Brooke whispered, gathering them both into her arms, wrapping the blankets tightly around them. She backed into the furthest corner of the room, pressing her body against the cold concrete of the structural wall, shielding them completely.
In the living room, the deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted. The heavy oak doors of the penthouse were blown off their hinges with a concussive blast that shook the floorboards.
Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the screams of men fighting and dying in her home. She could hear her father's voice booming over the chaos, barking orders, holding the line.
Then, her encrypted cell phone vibrated violently in her pocket.
She pulled it out with a shaking hand. The screen glowed brightly in the dark room. It was a video call. The caller ID simply read: Garrett.
Brooke accepted the call.
Garrett's face appeared on the screen. He was bruised, his white shirt stained with dirt and blood, but his eyes burned with a manic, terrifying triumph. He was sitting in the back of a moving vehicle, the sounds of sirens faintly wailing in the background.
"Hello, Brooke," Garrett smiled, a cold, empty expression.
"You're a monster," Brooke whispered fiercely into the phone, holding her twins tight.
"I'm a survivor," Garrett corrected. "I hear your father is putting up quite a fight in the living room. It's a shame. The Romanovs don't take prisoners."
"They won't get through him," Brooke spat.
"Maybe not," Garrett chuckled darkly. "But they don't have to. You see, Brooke, I didn't send them to the penthouse to capture you. I sent them to keep Marcus busy."
Brooke frowned, a cold, paralyzing dread creeping up her spine. "What are you talking about?"
"I know about the helicopter on the roof, Brooke," Garrett said, his smile widening into something truly demonic. "And I know exactly which flight path your pilot was instructed to take."
Garrett leaned closer to the camera, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "I'll see you in the sky, my love."
The call abruptly disconnected, the screen going black.
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Outside the nursery door, the gunfire abruptly ceased. Heavy, deliberate footsteps began to approach down the hallway, stopping right outside the barricaded door.
Brooke held her breath, clutching her babies, staring at the door handle as it began to slowly turn in the red emergency light.
