Chapter 4 - The Breach at the Manor
The peaceful silence of the Irish countryside vanished in an instant.
Red emergency lights began flashing softly along the baseboards of the library, and high-pitched, silent alarm alerts vibrated through Marco’s tactical comms.
Antonio stood up smoothly from behind his desk, pulling a sleek black semi-automatic handgun from a hidden drawer beneath the mahogany top. He checked the magazine with practiced, effortless efficiency before sliding it into his holster.
“Evelyn, stay behind me,” Antonio commanded, his voice turning into solid iron.
“Antonio, you’re still recovering!” Evelyn exclaimed, her heart thumping wildly against her chest.
“I am perfectly capable of protecting my home,” Antonio replied calmly. He turned to Marco. “How many?”
“At least twelve men,” Marco reported, chambering a round into his carbine rifle. “They cut the power lines at the main road two minutes ago. The estate generator just kicked in.”
Outside, the distant, muffled sound of silenced automatic gunfire rattled through the heavy rain.
“They didn't come to negotiate,” Marco said grimly. “They know Evelyn is here. They want to eliminate both of you before the FBI and Irish authorities can verify the digitalis evidence.”
Antonio grabbed Evelyn’s hand, his grip warm, firm, and surprisingly reassuring despite the chaos around them.
“We move to the lower vault,” Antonio said, pulling her out of the library into the dimly lit stone corridor.
They moved quickly through the labyrinthine halls of the manor, flanked by three armed Moretti security guards. The sounds of heavy boots, breaking glass, and shouting echoed from the ground floor below as the estate’s outer perimeter guards engaged the intruders.
As they reached the top of the grand marble staircase leading down to the lower level, a dark-suited gunman burst through the side balcony doors ahead of them, weapon raised.
Before the gunman could acquire his target, Antonio raised his firearm and fired three precise shots. The intruder collapsed backward through the shattered glass doors into the rain.
Evelyn gasped, pulling back against the stone wall, her breath coming in ragged hitches. She had spent her adult life dealing with unruly passengers, turbulence, and minor emergencies—never cold, calculated violence.
Antonio turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look into his dark, steady eyes.
“Look at me, Evelyn,” he said softly, his voice cutting through her panic like a beacon. “Look at me. Do not look at the floor. Breathe.”
Evelyn blinked back her panic, forcing herself to focus entirely on his face. “I’m... I’m okay.”
“You are safe with me,” Antonio whispered, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “I will not let them touch you.”
Suddenly, a heavy metal door at the end of the lower hallway swung open, and two more heavily armed men rushed into the corridor.
Marco stepped forward, laying down a suppressing hail of gunfire, pushing the attackers back into the courtyard.
“Boss! The secret passage beneath the cellar!” Marco yelled over the deafening noise. “Take Miss Foster through the tunnel to the boathouse! The lake boat is ready!”
Antonio hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at his head of security. “Marco—”
“Go!” Marco insisted, firing another burst. “I will hold the main hall until the Garda tactical unit arrives!”
Antonio nodded firmly, gripping Evelyn’s hand once more. “Come!”
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They ducked into the hidden cellar doorway behind a heavy wine rack, descending rapidly into a narrow, stone-walled underground passage that smelled of moss, damp soil, and ancient lake water.
Behind them, the heavy iron door slammed shut, locking out the noise of the battle above as they plunged into the dark underground path toward Lough Derg.
