Chapter 13 #2
Harris chuckled lightly.
“We know he prefers to operate through fear. Fear works — until it’s removed from the equation.”
Vasquez added, voice steady and ruthless:
“This was never his territory by right. He overstayed because of you. As long as he stood here, attacking was suicide — too many loyal men, too much infrastructure. But remove the commander... compromise a few guards... secure insider access... and suddenly the fortress becomes vulnerable.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Who did you pay?”
Silence.
Then Harris laughed softly.
“You think we’d reveal that?”
The doors shook again — this time from something heavier.
Explosive reinforcement?
My pulse spiked.
Vasquez’s voice lowered.
“We gave you an option before this escalation three years ago.”
“Option?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer to the door.
Through the metal barrier, his shadow stretched across the hallway floor.
“Divorce Baranov. Marry Harris so he can claim his inheritance. Once he secures it, he signs the agreement to join the unification of the five mafia families. He’s the only one left to sign — and you’ve been the one delaying it.”
His gaze hardened.
“I also need his support in tomorrow’s vote for my mayoral position. And the Thompson backing — which I can’t obtain unless Harris marries you today.”
My throat tightened.
I stepped back instinctively, my fingers tightening around my phone as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded.
The banging on the door continued — louder now, more urgent.
My footsteps echoed across the foyer as I paced.
Fast.
Erratic.
My breathing grew shallow, uneven, each inhale catching painfully in my chest while the sound of fists pounding against the door swallowed whatever calm I had left.
My phone felt like it was burning into my palm.
No calls.
No texts.
No response.
Ruslan.
Where are you?
The silence from him terrified me more than the men outside.
If something had happened mid-flight — sabotage, interference, forced landing — then this wasn’t just an attack on my home.
It was coordinated.
Strategic.
Designed to isolate me.
The doors shook violently again.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Harris shouted through the reinforced barrier.
“Elena! Stop making this harder than it needs to be!”
His voice echoed inside the house like poison.
I turned toward the sound.
“Harder?” I screamed back. “You’re attacking my home!”
“And you, Vasquez — how dare you call me your daughter after you abandoned me and treated me like I meant nothing?” I snapped.
“Yet now you stand there like you need me more than anything.”
My chest burned. “What a piece of shit father you are.”
Silence followed.
Another impact slammed into the doors.
This one was heavier.
The entire frame vibrated.
My heart leapt into my throat.
I ran toward the security console near the staircase and pulled up the live feed.
Outside cameras flickered to life.
The footage displayed the front lawn — illuminated by floodlights.
The two men from earlier were no longer alone.
Dozens more stood behind them now.
Armored. Masked.
Equipped with industrial equipment.
My blood ran cold.
They had reinforcements.
They had backup staged beyond initial detection.
I zoomed in on one figure.
He carried something mounted on a tripod.
Not a simple battering ram. Not anymore.
“Explosives,” I breathed.
They were preparing a controlled breach.
My fingers flew across the screen.
I sprinted back toward the alcove.
I slid the panel open fully now.
Daphne looked up at me — not crying.
Not panicking.
Just watching.
Her tiny hand held Papa’s wool figure tighter.
“Mama,” she asked quietly, “house loud.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Yes, baby.”
“Bad men?”
I knelt immediately and cupped her face.
“No one is allowed to hurt you.”
“Papa come?”
The question stabbed deeper than the explosions.
I forced steadiness into my tone.
“Papa is on his way.”
She nodded.
Satisfied by that answer.
Because in her world —
Papa fixed everything.
I kissed her forehead again.
“Stay inside. Don’t come out for anyone but me.”
She hugged the doll closer.
“I protect.”
The words nearly broke me.
“Mommy...”
Her small voice cracked through the chaos like a fragile thread trying to hold reality together.
“Dat loud bang-bang sound? It never stops. It’s scawy.”
My chest collapsed inward.
I grip her tiny shoulders to steady them.
The lace cuffs of her cream romper brushed my wrists as I brushed dark curls away from her face.
“Listen to me,” I whispered, keeping my voice gentle even though my heart was exploding inside my ribs. “Those loud sounds? Big strong men are outside fixing something important for us.”
Her brows furrowed.
“Fixing?”
“Yes.”
I forced a small smile.
“Like when Papa fixes the swing set. Remember? It breaks — and he makes it strong again. They’re doing the same thing. Just working hard.”
She tilted her head.
“They shout.”
“Sometimes fixing things is noisy.”
Her lips pressed together thoughtfully.
“Will they stop?”
“Yes.”
I cupped her cheeks carefully.
“Soon. And when they stop, everything will be quiet again.”
She studied me for a long moment — searching my face for lies.
Then she nodded.
“Okay, Mommy. I be quiet mouse.”
The innocence in her words nearly shattered me.
“Good girl.”
I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to hers.
I inhaled deeply — memorizing the smell of baby shampoo, warmth, and safety.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.”
I kissed her forehead and sealed the panel shut.
The click felt permanent.
Final.
Like I was closing a door on the only safe part of my world.
I turned — and the house exploded with my father’s voice. “Elena!”
The sound ripped through the foyer like a gunshot.
My body flinched automatically.
Ruslan still hadn’t returned my call.
Without thinking, my thumb swiped his contact again — as if repeating the action would somehow make him answer.
Ring.
Voicemail.
Ring.
Voicemail.
I stared at the screen like it had betrayed me.
“Answer,” I whispered desperately.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Time stretched.
Minutes turned into hours.
The assault didn’t stop.
They hit the doors repeatedly — not random strikes but coordinated impacts.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The titanium core held — but the wooden reinforcement around it was collapsing under sustained force.
Splinters cracked.
Metal groaned.
The frame bent inward.
I counted the attempts without realizing I was counting.
Fifty.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
My phone showed three hundred and nine call attempts.
Three hundred and nine.
Each unanswered.
Each carrying a silent plea.
“Elena!” Vasquez shouted again.
His voice echoed through the reinforced barrier.
“I’m coming for you, girl! You hear me?”
My spine went rigid.
I slid down the wall slowly until I was sitting on the cold marble floor, knees pulled to my chest.
My breath came in shallow bursts.
They were going to break through.
It wasn’t a question anymore.
It was inevitable.
My mind raced.
Where were the perimeter teams?
Why weren’t sniper positions responding?
The silence from my internal comms terrified me more than the violence outside.
Someone had disabled access.
Or compromised it.
My stomach twisted violently.
I glanced toward the staircase.
If they searched room by room —
They might find the hidden alcove.
And once they found Daphne...
No.
My jaw tightened.
They would never touch her.
Not over my dead body.
The final strike came like a thunderclap.
The doors emitted a tortured metallic scream — high pitched, unbearable.
The hinges finally gave.
Explosive force ripped them from the frame.
Titanium bars snapped.
Wood shattered.
The entire structure collapsed inward in a violent crash.
Dust and debris filled the foyer.
The doors skidded across the marble like defeated shields.
Then —
They entered.
Armed men flooded through the breach in disciplined formation.
Black tactical gear.
Automatic rifles raised.
Masks covering their identities.
They spread immediately — taking control of angles, scanning corners, securing sightlines.
Professional.
Efficient.
Deadly.
At their center walked Vasquez.
His presence commanded the room.
Silver threaded through his dark hair now — not old age weakness but battle-earned experience.
His eyes burned with fury.
Beside him —
Harris.
Smiling.
Watching.
Like this was entertainment.
Like it was a business negotiation unfolding exactly as planned.
Vasquez locked eyes with me instantly.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
He stepped forward.
His boots echoed across shattered glass.
Before I could react —
His hand shot out.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me upright.
Pain exploded across my scalp.
I gasped.
He dragged me forward violently — then slammed my back into the nearest wall.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
Stars burst across my vision.
I tried to shove him away — but his strength outweighed mine.
His soldiers watched.
Unmoved.
Harris walked closer slowly, observing.
His face hovered inches from mine — rage etched into every line, breath hot and furious against my skin.
“What a rebellious bitch.”
His hand stretched out.
One of his men stepped forward and shoved something heavy into his palm.
An iron baton.
Black.
Thick.
Ridged with reinforced steel designed to fracture bone.
Vasquez wrapped his fingers around it slowly — testing its weight — as if he were assessing a weapon before execution.
My pulse went into overdrive.
He advanced.
Each step deliberate.
Predatory.
I scrambled backward along the marble wall, palms slipping against cold stone as my body tried to create distance that didn’t exist.
“Dad... please...”
My voice sounded foreign — small, terrified.
He stopped.
Not out of mercy. But calculation.
The baton lifted slightly.
Pointed at my chest like a judge delivering a sentence.
“I loved your mother,” he said suddenly.
The words cut through the chaos like broken glass.