Chapter 6 - THE STORM RETURNS
March arrived with heavy rains along the southern coast of California, bringing dark grey clouds that rolled in from the Pacific Ocean, masking the sunny beaches in a thick, eerie fog.
I was sitting in my sunlit studio, carefully cleaning the varnish off an old oil painting, when the front security gates of the villa rattled violently.
I looked out the garage window.
A heavy silver SUV—one I didn't recognize—had rammed through the outer wooden latch of Simone’s driveway, pulling up onto the gravel courtyard.
My heart spiked with instant alarm.
The doors of the silver vehicle burst open. Three men clad in dark rain jackets stepped out, holding concealed weapons beneath their coats.
These were not Marcus's men.
Before I could drop my restoration tools and run toward the main house to find Simone, the dark security sedan parked down the street accelerated wildly into the driveway!
The two Vale guards who had been silently watching over me for two months burst from their vehicle, weapons drawn, taking defensive positions behind the stone pillars of the garage.
"Mrs. Vale! Stay inside!" one of the Vale guards roared over the sound of pouring rain!
Shots rang out!
The sharp crack-crack-crack of suppressed gunfire echoed through the peaceful neighborhood, shattering the coastal quiet!
I scrambled backward, pressing my body against the reinforced brick wall of the studio, wrapping my arms tight around my protruding stomach, terror seizing my throat.
"Elena! Get down!" Simone screamed, bursting through the side connecting door of the main house, ducking under the window level as glass from the studio windows shattered from stray bullets!
Outside, the firefight was brief, intense, and brutal.
Marcus’s elite security guards were tactical experts. Within ninety seconds, two of the intruding men were down on the gravel, and the third was pinned against the hood of the silver SUV, handcuffed tightly by Marcus's lead West Coast operative, a hardened veteran named Vance.
Vance kicked the weapons away from the fallen men, then rushed into the ruined studio, his gun still raised, scanning the room frantically.
"Mrs. Vale!" Vance shouted, his face covered in rain and sweat. "Are you hit? Are you okay?"
I sat on the floor among the broken glass, shaking violently, clutching my bump. "I... I'm okay... I'm not hurt... who are those men?"
Vance let out a heavy breath of relief, quickly holstering his weapon and kneeling beside me. "Remnants of the Moretti cartel from North Chicago. They thought they could use you as leverage against Mr. Vale now that he’s purged his internal leadership."
Vance reached into his tactical vest and pulled out his satellite phone, pressing a single speed-dial button.
"Boss," Vance spoke into the line, his voice urgent. "The strike team attempted a breach at the La Jolla property. Threat neutralized. Three assailants down or secured. Mrs. Vale is uninjured, but the location is compromised."
Through the speaker of the phone, even over the sound of rain, I heard the terrifying, deafening roar of absolute rage that erupted from Marcus Vale in Chicago.
"Is she safe?" Marcus’s voice exploded through the line, raw, panicked, and lethal. "Is my wife safe, Vance? Speak to me!"
Vance handed the phone to me with trembling fingers. "He needs to hear your voice, ma'am."
I took the phone with shaking hands, raising it to my ear.
"Marcus?" I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion.
Silence fell over the line for a single, agonizing second, followed by a harsh, heavy breath as Marcus processed my voice.
"Elena..." Marcus choked out, his tone shifting instantly from deadly rage to profound, desperate relief. "Elena... baby... are you hurt? Please tell me you're okay."
"I'm okay, Marcus," I wept quietly into the receiver. "The baby is okay. Your guards... Vance saved us."
"I’m coming," Marcus said, his voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding promise. "My plane is taking off in ten minutes. I am coming to you now."
"Marcus, wait—"
"No more distance, Elena," Marcus cut in gently, but with a firmness that left no room for debate. "They tried to touch my family. The game is over. I am coming to take care of you, and I am not leaving your side again."
The line went dead.
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I held the phone against my chest, looking out through the shattered glass of the studio toward the foggy ocean, feeling the rapid, healthy kicks of our unborn baby moving against my palm.
The wall I had built around my heart was cracking, piece by piece, under the overwhelming force of a man who was willing to burn the world to keep us safe.
