26. Mateo
26
MATEO
L ila sleeps pressed against me, her leg draped over mine, her face tucked just below my collarbone. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember this—her skin warm against mine, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the faint scent of her shampoo clinging to the sheets.
It’s a strange kind of quiet. Not peace, exactly, but stillness.
Her hand rests against my chest, fingers twitching slightly in her sleep. She always runs warm, like a furnace. I keep thinking I’ll pull away eventually, roll over and give us space, but I never do.
I hold her instead. And I feel… something.
Not just the pull of her body, not just the distraction of her mouth or the sharp edge of her tongue when she’s pissed. It’s more than that now. There’s a weight to this, to her. She’s taken root in places I didn’t think were still alive.
I should be more careful about this, but I don’t move. I enjoy her for a moment longer.
Then it hits.
Alert: Perimeter Breach flashes across my phone screen, followed by a low beep and a pulsing red light. I’m out of bed before the second tone. My ears reach into the darkness outside the walls of the house. I hear footsteps, fast to the south side, but no gunfire. It means my men don't know something has happened.
“Power’s out,” I mutter, grabbing the pistol from the drawer and chambering a round. “Backup generator just kicked in. Forty-second delay on the exterior motion sensors.”
Lila bolts upright, eyes wide. “What?”
“Get him,” I bark, already halfway across the room.
She doesn’t ask questions. She’s moving before I reach the door. She shoves her arms into the sleeves of her house coat and rushes out as I sweep the hall first—nothing. Lights are low, running on emergency power. Red emergency strips blink along the baseboards. I don't hear anything downstairs yet either.
Lila rushes out of Lev’s room with him in her arms. He’s groggy, confused, clutching her neck with both arms. It's chilly. I grab a blanket off the hall bench and throw it around him.
“Panic room,” I say, guiding them down the stairs. “Now.”
There's no sign of a breach yet, but I don’t trust the silence I hear. Where men's eyes fail, my sensors have told me to be wary. I'm not fearful, but I'm not stupid. I lead the way, heading down the stairs, and Lila clings to my back side. If Lev is awake enough to know what's going on, he doesn't say anything.
We reach the panic room door. I punch in the manual code with one hand while keeping my weapon trained on the hall behind us. The lock hisses and releases. I shove the door open.
Lila rushes in. I follow last. As soon as I hit the inside panel, the door seals shut behind us, heavy metal sliding into place. The sound is deep, final.
Then—gunfire.
Short bursts. Sharp and disciplined—not wild shooting. It's suppressed.
I move straight to the hardwired backup console mounted into the wall above the emergency comms kit. The screen flares to life with a slight flicker—it's grainy but functional. Interior feeds are spotty, but I’ve still got coverage across most of the estate.
The east garden lights are out. Two figures move low through the hedges, moving with intent, not speed. They don’t panic. They don’t check their corners twice. Whoever they are, they know the layout—or studied it well enough to move like they belong here.
I switch cameras. One of my men goes down near the pool, a chest hit and hard fall. He doesn't move. I grit my teeth.
Another feed shows a flash at the side garage. One of mine pops out behind the landscaping wall. He gets two shots off—clean ones. Then his head snaps back, and he drops like a ragdoll. Second one down.
I clench the edge of the desk, forcing myself to stay still. I can’t help them from in here. Not right now. If I radio them, it will go off on every com out there and every location will be exposed. I have to trust them to know their surroundings and do their jobs.
Switching angles again, I catch one of the intruders breaking off from the pair. He moves to the main stairwell, crouches low, lifts his rifle, and fires at the electronic lock in three precise shots. It's controlled, grouped, and tactical. Military background, no doubt.
This isn’t a kidnapping crew. It’s not a smash-and-grab. These are trained hitters with a specific target. And they’re too close already.
I turn from the console. Lila’s crouched with Lev, both of them still as stone. Her eyes meet mine, and she knows what I’m about to do before I say a word.
“No,” she says. “Don’t open the door.”
I cross to the weapons locker on the back wall and pull it open. Inside are two rifles, two handguns, and spare mags. I grab the Glock, load a full clip, and tuck a second into my waistband.
“They’re not after you. We're safe in here,” she says. She’s trying to keep her voice calm, but I hear the strain behind it. “You said so yourself.”
“I did,” I reply as I check the safety and meet her eyes. “That’s exactly why I’m going out there.”
She rises slightly, still holding Lev. “Please, just wait. Let Rafe handle it.” I see the fear in her eyes. It's not for herself. She's afraid for me.
“I won’t let them get past this door. I'm coming back.” I move to the panel and key in the override. The lock begins to disengage.
Lila’s voice breaks through again sharply. “Mateo, please don’t?—”
“If you and Lev weren't here,” I say, glancing at her, “they’d already be dead.”
The door opens with a low hiss. I step out and pull it shut behind me. The lock resets, and I leave them sealed in.
The hallway is silent. Emergency lights cast long, pulsing shadows as I move. My feet are bare, but my grip is steady. I’ve done this before. The tension tightens behind my ribs, not from fear but from clarity.
I reach the kitchen fast. I hear them before I see them—two voices, close. Their cadence is professional, their hand signals clear and efficient. They’re not looting or rushing. They’re clearing rooms with purpose. They’re hunting.
I slip into cover behind the archway.
When the first man crosses into the kitchen, I fire two rounds into his chest. He drops instantly. The second swings around on me and gets a shot off. It grazes my ribs, sharp and hot, but I put one through his throat before he can correct.
They collapse together and silence follows.
Blood spreads across the tile as I stay crouched, pistol raised, scanning. Both men wear stripped tactical gear with no insignia and no dog tags. They are clean and anonymous, exactly how a message gets sent.
I press a hand to my side. Warm, sticky blood seeps through my shirt, but I’m upright. That’s enough.
Rafe appears at the hallway entrance, gun raised. He freezes when he sees me, then the bodies, then the blood.
“You’re hit,” he says.
“Clipped.” I straighten slowly. “They didn’t get far.”
Rafe looks down at the shooters. “They weren’t freelance.”
“No,” I say as I stare at the door they breached through. “They were let in.”
His jaw tightens. “You think it was inside?”
“I know it was.” I meet his eyes. “Find out who opened the perimeter.”
Rafe nods once and disappears down the hall.
I stay where I am, blood dripping onto the tile as the house falls quiet again, but I know it won’t stay that way. Now is when I put an end to this once and for all.