Chapter 30
Izzy
We were in the foyer when the doorbell rang.
Tone froze mid-step.
“That,” she said slowly, “is either extremely inconvenient or extremely suspicious.”
I glanced toward the front doors as one of the guards approached, checked the monitor, then turned the lock.
“They’re letting him in,” I murmured.
Tone crossed her arms.
“Who is him?”
The door opened.
Archie stepped inside with the same composed stillness he always carried, cane grounded lightly against the marble floor as his eyes adjusted to the interior lighting. He looked exactly as he always did—calm, observant, faintly tired in a way that suggested he rarely slept properly.
Tone’s posture sharpened instantly.
Suspicion, undisguised.
Archie inclined his head slightly.
“Ladies.”
Tone did not return the greeting.
Instead, she tilted her head and studied him like a specimen.
“You,” she gave him her doe eyes, “were not scheduled. Again.”
Archie’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Raze and I had a meeting,” he informed us politely. “He appears to have forgotten all about it.”
Tone glanced at me. Then back at him. Then she narrowed her eyes.
“How convenient,” she deadpanned.
I shot her a look.
“Tone,” I nudged her with my arm, “don’t be rude.”
She blinked.
“I’m not being rude,” she replied. “I’m being cautious.”
Archie let out a breath that almost resembled amusement.
“That’s understandable. Given the current circumstances.”
I stepped forward before the tension could escalate further.
“He’s on the guest list,” I told Tone gently. “The guards wouldn’t have let him in otherwise.”
That earned a small pause from her. Then a reluctant exhale.
“Fine. But if he starts acting suspicious, I reserve the right to be insufferable.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Archie stated.
Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of me.
“Come in.” I gestured him to come inside. “You might as well wait until Raze gets back.”
Archie stepped fully into the foyer, his gaze briefly sweeping the staircase, the hallways, the subtle positioning of guards. He noticed everything. Efficiently.
Tone leaned closer to me and whispered, not quite low enough, “He acts like a man who’s afraid of another assassination attempt.”
Archie didn’t miss a beat.
“I am,” he replied.
Tone blinked. Then gave a slow nod.
We were still standing there, mid-conversation, when the first gunshot rang out.
It came from somewhere beyond the trees lining the property. Distant—but unmistakable.
The sound tore through the air like a rocket, sharp and violent enough to silence the air around it.
Tone went completely still.
My stomach dropped.
Archie didn’t move at first. He simply leaned forward slightly, his posture changing in a way that was subtle but immediate—like a switch flipping somewhere deep inside him.
His head tilted. Listening.
One finger lifted slowly to his lips.
“Quiet,” he murmured.
Another volley followed. Closer this time.
Three shots in rapid succession. Then two more a second later.
The sound cracked across the estate, bouncing off stone and steel until it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once.
My pulse spiked so hard it made my ears ring.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Archie didn’t answer. He was still listening.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he processed the rhythm of the shots—the spacing, the distance, the direction they were coming from.
This wasn’t panic. It was calculation. The way someone listens when they already know what gunfire means.
Another burst. This one louder. Too close.
Archie exhaled once.
“Well,” he remarked, his voice eerily composed, “it seems we have uninvited guests.”
Tone’s head shot toward the front doors.
“You’re joking.”
Another crack of gunfire tore through the estate.
This time it came from the direction of the front gate.
The sound was no longer distant. It was advancing.
Archie was already pulling his phone from his jacket.
His thumb moved quickly across the screen, firing off messages without hesitation.
“I presume this house has a panic room,” he asked without looking at us. “You both need to go there. Immediately.”
My feet didn’t move.
“What about you?”
He finally looked up. The expression in his eyes made my chest tighten. Clear. Serious. Unwavering.
“I will handle the situation.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you’re getting.”
Tone grabbed my wrist suddenly.
“Izzy,” she hissed.
But I shook my head.
“You’re staying out here?” I demanded.
Archie held my gaze. There was something in the look he gave me that made the air feel thinner.
“You need to disappear,” he informed us. “Now.”
Another volley of gunfire exploded somewhere near the perimeter wall. Closer. Inside the estate.
“Because things are about to get really, really ugly.”
The words had barely left his mouth when another series of shots erupted. Loud. Violent. Close enough that the glass in the windows rattled.
That was enough.
Tone didn’t argue again. She turned sharply and pulled me toward the staircase.
“Move.”
This time I didn’t resist.
We took the stairs two at a time, our footsteps pounding against the marble as the house transformed around us.
Moments ago it had felt safe. Now it felt like a fortress under siege.
Another gunshot cracked through the air behind us. Closer again.
My lungs burned as we reached the top of the stairs, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt.
Instinct took over.
I turned toward the hallway that led to the panic room.
Tone yanked me sideways so violently I almost lost my balance.
“Not yet.”
“What—”
She dragged me into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind us.
The sound echoed through the room.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my breath shaking.
She didn’t answer.
Instead she crossed the room with alarming purpose, heading straight for her dresser.
She yanked open the top drawer and reached inside. She pulled out a gun.
I froze.
“Tone—”
She turned toward me with a crooked grin that tried very hard to look casual. It didn’t quite succeed.
“Surprise.”
My mouth fell open.
“You have a gun.”
“I have several,” she boasted, rather matter-of-factly.
She checked the magazine with the practiced ease of someone who had done it many times before.
Click. Metal sliding against metal.
Her hands were steady. Her eyes were not.
Another burst of gunfire erupted somewhere outside the house. Closer still.
She glanced briefly toward the window before looking back at me.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t need this,” she confessed.
“This is insane,” I whispered.
My voice sounded small even to my own ears.
She stepped closer, keeping the weapon angled safely toward the floor but holding it with firm certainty.
The grin faded slightly. What replaced it was something far more serious. Tension. Fear. Resolve.
“It’s either us, Izzy,” she whispered.
Her eyes held mine.
“Or them.”
The words landed between us in a way that suggested a decision needed to be made quickly.
Another gunshot exploded downstairs.
Loud enough this time that the floor beneath our feet seemed to tremble.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
For a moment the world narrowed to the sound of my breathing and the weight of the choice hanging in the room.
I swallowed hard.
Then forced the words out past the fear tightening my throat.
“I choose us.”