Chapter 9 - The King’s Return
The screaming started half a second later.
Through the narrow grille above the panic room door, I heard the sudden, chaotic burst of gunfire, the shattering of glass, and the heavy sound of bodies hitting the hardwood floors of the library.
Vance shouted in sheer terror. "He's alive! Shoot him! Shoot—"
A deafening shotgun blast drowned out his voice, followed by the wet, heavy sound of someone collapsing against the door wall.
I stood frozen, the pistol heavy in my hands, holding my breath as the violence raged outside the thin steel barrier. It lasted less than forty seconds.
Then, complete, total silence returned to the house.
A quiet knock sounded on the steel door. Three slow taps. Then two fast ones.
Luca's signal.
My hands shook violently as I reached forward, unlatching the heavy iron deadbolt and sliding the mechanical lock back. I pulled the door open.
Luca stood in the doorway.
His black shirt was torn at the shoulder, soaked in rain and dark mud. A jagged cut bled freely along his hairline, staining the left side of his face in crimson. But his eyes—his dark, terrifying eyes—were completely clear, burning with a white-hot fury that made the air in the hallway feel like ice.
Behind him, four of Vance's men lay motionless on the library carpet. Vance himself was pinned to the floor beneath the heavy knee of a tactical guard, his face covered in blood and sweat.
Luca ignored them all. His gaze swept into the room, locking onto me standing in the center with the pistol lowered at my side, my arm wrapped in my bloody sweater.
He stepped over the threshold, taking three long strides, and pulled me into his arms with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs.
His arms wrapped around me like steel bands, his wet, muddy jacket pressing against my face, his heart hammering against my chest like a war drum.
"Claire," he choked out, his voice cracking, shedding every ounce of his formidable composure. "My God, Claire..."
I dropped the gun onto the bench, my arms coming up to wrap around his neck, burying my face in his damp, cold neck, weeping tears of pure relief. "You came back. You promised, and you came back."
"I will always come back to you," Luca whispered fiercely, his lips pressing against my hairline, my cheek, my neck, desperate to confirm that I was whole, that I was real, that I was alive.
Mateo peeked out from behind the plastic crates in the alcove, his tiny hands clutching his broken-and-fixed dinosaur. "Papa?"
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Luca pulled back from me, dropping to his knees on the concrete floor, holding his arms open wide. "Mateo! Come here, boy!"
The little boy sprinted across the room, throwing himself into his father's arms. Luca lifted him high against his chest, burying his face in his son's dark hair, holding both of us close against him as the rain began to fall again outside the shattered library windows.
