60

MILLIE
Minutes that felt like eternity ticked by before Dario returned, cradling my sister and brother in his arms. Their small forms clung to him as if he were their lifeline in the midst of a tempest. I wasted no time; my arms enfolded them protectively, a shield against the chaos that encroached upon our sanctuary. And then, in a heartbeat, my world tilted on its axis.
The name escaped my lips in a breathy, almost inaudible whisper, “Harper…”
However, Dario remained oblivious to my quiet plea, his attention absorbed by urgent conversations held over his phone. The cadence of his voice was laced with tension and panic as he demanded information, his face losing color with every passing word. A sharp expletive punctuated the air, a testament to the gravity of the situation. His gaze swung back to me, and the expression etched across his features sent a shiver down my spine, a premonition of the horrors about to unfold.
Words tumbled from his lips, hitting my ears like leaden drops in a pool of dread. “The Russians have breached the perimeter. Their numbers… overpowering. We must retreat to the panic room in the basement. There, we shall wait for reinforcement.”
His fingers closed around my arm, but I wrenched myself free, determination fueling my actions. “Karsen, Sienna, they must go to safety.”
“You are under my care,” he hissed through clenched teeth. The cacophony of destruction outside intensified, punctuated by the ominous shattering of glass and the staccato rhythm of gunshots.
“I cannot forsake Harper. I won’t,” I declared, the urgency in my voice a reflection of the storm raging within me. Another crash reverberated, and the acrid scent of chaos seeped into the room.
“Your life is mine to protect,” Dario insisted, but his words were swallowed by the symphony of violence that surged throughout the house.
My resolve remained unshaken. “If harm befalls Sienna or Karsen, the consequences will be absolute. I would rather cease to exist than witness their suffering. Swear to me, promise me their safety.”
His eyes bore into mine, an unspoken understanding exchanged in the charged silence. An inferno of male voices erupted in a foreign tongue, their words indiscernible yet laden with menace. Valerio’s valiant efforts would only hold them back for so long, and the prospect of impending doom loomed large.
With a fierce urgency, Dario thrust a weapon into my trembling hands. I gripped it, my fingers tightening around its cold steel, and then I fled from the room. The sight of Enrique’s lifeless form sprawled on the stone floor registered only peripherally as I raced down the slope, each step carrying me closer to the bay. Amid the turmoil, my phone buzzed insistently against my palm. I snatched it up, the device a lifeline in a sea of chaos.
Answering the call, I pressed the phone to my ear, my voice laden with a mixture of desperation and determination. As my eyes swept the beach, seeking the one I yearned to find, I uttered the words that encapsulated our dire predicament, “They killed Enrique.”
Gio’s voice, a lifeline in itself, crackled with concern on the other end. “Millie, are you safe?”
The weight of my response was heavy, colored with a potent mixture of grief and urgency. “I need to find Harper.”
Urgency threaded Gio’s words as he attempted to guide me to safety, his desperation evident in the timbre of his voice. Yet his words dissolved into the tempestuous air, for the dire task that lay before me was one only I could fulfill. Harper’s form appeared in the distance, a beacon of hope in the chaos.
With a final reassurance, I whispered into the phone, “I can’t speak any longer.”
Harper’s voice, a harbinger of understanding, pierced through the clamor. “Millie-”
My words came to an abrupt halt, but the urgency remained, binding us all in a web of uncertainty and peril.
With urgency and apprehension gripping my heart, I guided her towards the weathered dock where our boat rested gently against the lapping water. The night was cloaked in shadows, and the boat offered a refuge far safer than returning indoors to search for the elusive panic room. The aged planks of the dock protested beneath our steps as we hastened towards the vessel. But then, an ear-piercing shriek shattered the tranquility of the night, freezing me in my tracks. Eyes locked with Harper’s, unspoken understanding passed between us. Wordlessly, we pivoted and hurried back towards the ominous house.
My pulse reverberated through my chest as we re-entered the grand loggia. An eerie emptiness engulfed the living space. Bending down, I retrieved Enrique’s knives, a shiver coursing down my spine despite the urgency. Passing one blade to Harper, I slipped the switchblade into my pocket, its presence reassuring in the face of impending danger.
“Let’s go,” my voice was a mere whisper, uncertainty clouding my mind. I lacked experience with firearms, my familiarity with knives limited to sparing sessions with Gio. This inadequacy hung heavy in the air, but an unrelenting determination propelled me forward. Sienna and Karsen’s fate remained unknown, and the thought of abandoning them was unconscionable.
Stepping cautiously, Harper and I ventured into the inky darkness that engulfed the interior. It was as if a blackout had descended, cloaking every corner in obscurity. Suppressing my breath, I strained to hear any sign of life. A foreboding silence permeated, chilling me to the bone. Approaching the door leading to the main lobby, an arm snaked around my waist, a visceral cry escaping my lips. Struggling against the vice-like grip, I tried to maneuver my gun, but the assailant twisted my wrist, igniting searing pain. The weapon slipped from my grasp as Harper gasped behind me. Desperation surged within me, my foot lashing out in a wild attempt to escape. A deep voice snarled in a foreign tongue, sending a shiver down my spine. A swift kick connected with his shin, a fleeting victory before his fist met my lips. Darkness engulfed my vision, a metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth. I crumpled, the warmth of blood trickling down my chin mingling with the bitterness of bile.
Fingers cruelly entangled in my hair, wrenching me upright. Agonized cries escaped my lips as pain radiated from my scalp. My assailant showed no mercy, hauling me into the lobby by my hair. Harper’s form was ensnared by another tall figure, unconscious and marred by a blossoming bruise on her forehead.
Thrown to the ground, I found myself before a pair of denim-clad legs. Gazing upwards, I met the cold, unfeeling eyes of a pockmarked face. His voice, laden with a heavy accent, demanded, “What’s your name, whore?” Recognition seemed absent; perhaps my bloodied countenance obscured my identity. Defiance flickered in my gaze as I met his gaze. A vicious kick to my stomach left me breathless, crumpling in agony. “Your name?” he persisted.
Glancing to the side, my eyes fell on Valerio’s wounded form, gurgling and clutching his bleeding stomach. Hope for Sienna, Karsen, and Dario flared as I scanned for them, praying they’d reached the safety of the panic room. A grip on my chin forced my head up, my eyes meeting the merciless glare of my captor. “Tell me your name, or must Pablo inflict pain on her?” His nod directed my attention to Harper, sprawled on the marble, dazed.
“Millie,” my voice wavered, a thread of vulnerability woven into the utterance.
“Millie Merante?” he mused, a cruel smile curving his lips.
I nodded, futile to deny it. His words in Russian elicited laughter from the men, their unsettling gazes crawling over my skin.
“Where are the others? Your shadow and the children?”
Understanding dawned slowly; he referred to Dario as my shadow. “I don’t know,” I confessed.
Pablo’s foot met Harper’s side, her pained scream tearing through the tense air. Her eyes locked with mine, a silent plea urging me to withhold information. Yet, witnessing her suffering was unbearable.
The clamor of voices and gunfire echoed from outside. The Russian leader’s grip tightened, dragging me backward as a chorus of conflict reached our ears. Pablo manhandled Harper, her fragile form unable to withstand his brutality. Another Russian crumpled, a gunshot claiming him. Words reverberated, chilling me to the core, “We have your wife, Merante. If you wish to see her unharmed, cease this battle and relinquish your weapons.”
Gio’s entrance was a whirlwind of tension. In each of his hands, he gripped a gun with an air of controlled fury. Right behind him, Sebastian followed, his own knives glinting ominously.
My heart pounded as the scene unfolded. I found myself trapped, ensnared by the grip of a man whose breath felt like searing heat against my neck. I struggled in vain against his vice-like hold, and the blade pressed menacingly into my skin, forcing me into a paralyzing stillness.