Chapter 147 - Breach of the Geneva Citadel
The glass double doors of the Baur au Lac hotel lobby didn't open; they were shattered off their bronze tracks by the tactical ram of the French Gendarmerie’s elite intervention unit (GIGN).
Twenty operators in black tactical gear, helmets, and assault carbines poured through the grand marble lobby, sealing the exits, while Captain Dupont and Marcus Vance led our tactical detachment toward the private elevator banks.
I walked through the lobby wearing my dark trench coat, holding my 9mm at low-ready, my boots crunching across the broken safety glass.
Behind me walked Noah and Sophie, guarded by four French operators, their heads held high, completely unbothered by the chaos surrounding them.
The private penthouse elevator doors slid open on the top floor.
Ethan was standing in the center of the ruined suite, his suit jacket torn, his knuckles bruised, looking like a victorious gladiator standing in the center of the Colosseum.
Lord Charles Sterling sat on the floor beside the hearth, weeping into his hands, clutching his broken cane.
Ethan looked toward the elevator doors.
He saw Marcus. He saw Dupont.
And then he saw me.
The lethal, terrifying darkness that had ruled his face for twenty-four hours vanished in a single, breathless heartbeat. His gray eyes softened into an ocean of pure, reverent, boundless love.
"Victoria," he choked out, taking three massive strides across the Persian rug.
I dropped my weapon onto the sofa, threw my arms around his broad, heaving shoulders, and buried my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of rain, gunpowder, and the man who had risked the world to keep us safe.
"You idiot," I wept against his skin, laughing through my tears. "You terrifying, beautiful idiot."
Ethan pulled back slightly, his large, calloused hands cupping my face, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks, kissing my forehead, my lips, with an intensity that took my breath away.
"I told you, Victoria," Ethan whispered, his voice trembling. "I will die ten thousand times before I let them touch our babies."
"Daddy!"
Two small voices rang out from the elevator vestibule.
Noah and Sophie broke through the tactical shield line, sprinting across the floorboards in their winter coats, throwing their arms around Ethan’s waist.
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Ethan dropped to his knees on the rug, pulling both of our children into his massive chest, his shoulders shaking violently as he wept—cleansing, triumphant tears of a father who had fought the darkest monsters of Europe and brought his family home unbroken.
"I've got you," Ethan sobbed, kissing Noah’s hair, kissing Sophie’s cheek, holding them as if he would never let them touch the earth again. "Daddy’s got you. The monsters are gone."
