Chapter 3
The bullet embedded itself deep into the oak bookshelf behind Damian.
Wood splinters showered across the Persian rug.
Damian did not flinch; he grabbed Clara by the waist and slammed her to the floor behind the heavy desk.
“Stay down!” he hissed, his hand drawing a heavy silver pistol from his holster with practiced speed.
Footsteps echoed outside the heavy mahogany doors.
Muffled shouts and the sound of shattering porcelain rose from the main foyer below.
“Victoria’s guests,” Clara whispered, her cheek pressed against the cold hardwood floor.
“No,” Damian muttered, his eyes fixed on the locked door. “That isn’t a random break-in.”
The doorknob rattled violently.
Someone was trying to force the brass lock from the outside.
Damian kicked off his Italian leather shoes to move silently.
He gestured for Clara to crawl toward the heavy velvet curtains draped over the side exit.
“If I tell you to run, you run straight to the basement kitchens,” he whispered close to her ear.
“I’m not leaving you here,” Clara whispered back, her fingers curling into her palms.
“That wasn't a request, Clara.”
The door crashed open with a deafening splinter of wood.
Three masked men in dark tactical gear flooded the study.
Silencers clicked in unison.
Damian rolled from behind the desk and fired twice.
The lead intruder dropped instantly.
The remaining two returned heavy gunfire, riddling the mahogany desk with bullets.
In the chaos, Clara’s eyes caught the yellowed paper lying on the coffee table.
It had blown loose during the gunfire.
May you like
She reached out from behind the curtain and grabbed it just as a boot smashed down inches from her hand.
A masked man lunged toward her with a knife, his blade glinting under the amber city lights.
