CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sasha
THE CLOCK READS 2:17 A.M., and I'm wide awake, staring at the ceiling while Marco sleeps beside me. His breathing is deep and even, one arm flung possessively across my waist, even in slumber. He had finally fallen asleep an hour ago, exhausted after finalizing plans for tonight's operation against the O'Reillys.
I should be sleeping, too. God knows I need it. But my mind won't quiet, racing with everything I've learned over the past twenty-four hours. Gerald's betrayal. The meeting at The Sanctuary. Marco's dangerous plan to strike back.
It's still surreal—how quickly my life has changed. Less than a month ago, I was a culinary school graduate with simple dreams: a modest catering business, a stable home for Lily, a normal life. Now, I'm lying in bed with a crime boss, actively involved in planning what amounts to a terrorist attack against a rival organization.
I should be horrified by what Marco is planning. Instead, I'm worried it might not be enough—that the O'Reillys will strike back even harder, that Gerald's betrayal runs deeper than Marco suspects, that Marco might not come home tonight.
I ease out from under Marco's arm, careful not to wake him. He needs every minute of rest he can get before tonight. Slipping on his discarded shirt from yesterday, I pad quietly to the window, staring out at the moonlit estate grounds where armed guards maintain their patrol.
My prison has become my sanctuary. My captor, the man I love. The irony isn't lost on me.
A soft whine draws my attention to the foot of the bed, where Buddy has raised his head, watching me with curious eyes.
"It's okay, boy," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."
Instead, he jumps down and comes to my side, pressing against my leg as if sensing my anxiety. I scratch behind his ears absently, grateful for the simple comfort of his presence.
"What are we doing here, Buddy?" I murmur. "How did we end up in the middle of a mafia war?"
He tilts his head, offering no answers but unwavering loyalty. At least some things remain uncomplicated.
Unable to settle, I decide to check on Lily. Moving silently through the darkened hallways, I make my way to her room, easing the door open just enough to see her sleeping form. She looks impossibly small in the massive bed, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly even in sleep. Innocent. Untouched by the darkness surrounding us. Buddy enters Lily’s room and curls up on the end of her bed.
I close the door gently, leaning against the wall as emotion threatens to overwhelm me. What kind of future am I creating for her by aligning myself with Marco? What risks am I exposing her to?
But the alternative—leaving Marco, trying to resume our ordinary lives—seems heart wrenching.
The O'Reillys have already demonstrated their willingness to target Lily to get to me, to get to Marco. There's no going back to the simplicity of before. The only way out is through.
I continue my restless wandering, finding myself drawn to the grand staircase. The house is eerily quiet at this hour, most of Marco's men are either sleeping or stationed outside. I pause at the top of the stairs, suddenly aware of hushed voices coming from below—a conversation in the entrance hall, tense and urgent despite the low volume.
Curiosity pulls me forward. I move silently down the stairs, staying in the shadows, instinctively cautious in a way that would have been foreign to me just weeks ago.
Michael and Gerald stand near the front door, their heads bent close together, voices too low for me to make out specific words. The scene immediately sets off alarm bells—Gerald shouldn't be here, not at this hour, not without Marco's knowledge. Especially not having private conversations with Michael.
I strain to hear, catching fragments: "...not enough time..." "...need to move the schedule forward..." "...Walsh will never..."
Gerald's agitation is evident even from my limited vantage point—his usually composed demeanor replaced by tense gestures and rapidly delivered words. Michael listens impassively, his scarred face betraying nothing of his thoughts.
I edge closer, heart pounding, knowing I need to hear this conversation. If they're discussing what I think they're discussing, Marco needs to know immediately.
"O'Reilly won't wait," Gerald's voice becomes clearer as I reach the bottom of the stairs, keeping to the shadows of the adjoining corridor. "He wants it done tonight, before—"
He breaks off abruptly as Michael raises a hand in warning. They both turn, scanning the darkness, and I freeze, barely daring to breathe. Have they sensed my presence?
After an agonizing moment, they resume their conversation, voices even lower now. I catch only disconnected phrases: "...the girl complicates things..." "...Patrick insists..." "...clean break..."
The reference to "the girl"—presumably me—sends ice through my veins. Whatever they're planning involves me, possibly Lily as well. I need to alert Marco, but moving now risks discovery.
Gerald finally nods, seeming to reach some conclusion with Michael. He turns to leave, pausing at the door for one final exchange I can't quite hear. Then he's gone, the door closing silently behind him.
Michael remains in the entrance hall for several long minutes, his stillness so complete he might be a statue. Is he waiting to see if anyone emerges from hiding? Testing whether their conversation was overheard?
Finally, he moves.
I wait until he's out of sight before racing back upstairs using a service staircase, heart hammering against my ribs. I need to reach Marco before Michael does, need to warn him about whatever is being accelerated.
The door to our bedroom is still closed, everything exactly as I left it. I slip inside, rushing to Marco's side.
"Marco," I whisper urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."
He's instantly alert, the transition from sleep to full consciousness occurring in the space of a heartbeat. His hand moves automatically to the gun he keeps beneath his pillow before he registers that it's me.
"What's wrong?" he asks, voice rough with sleep but mind already clear.
"Gerald was just here, meeting with Michael," I explain rapidly. "They're changing the timetable, moving something forward. I heard them mention O'Reilly and 'tonight,' and Michael is heading to your office right now."
Marco processes this information with remarkable speed, already rising and reaching for his clothes. "Did they see you?"
"No, I stayed hidden. But they mentioned 'the girl' complicating things, and something about Patrick insisting on a 'clean break.'"
His expression hardens at this, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. "Michael's coming to my office? Now?"
I nod, watching as he checks his gun with practiced efficiency. "What does it mean? Are they moving against you before you can strike at the O'Reillys?"
"Possibly," Marco says, his mind clearly racing through implications and countermoves. "Or they're changing the location of the meeting, adapting their plans." He pulls me close, his expression intensifying. "Stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but Tony or me. Understand?"
I nod, though fear claws at my throat. "Marco, if Gerald and Michael are both working against you—"
"I'll handle it," he assures me, his confidence unwavering despite the danger. "Just keep yourself safe until I return."
He kisses me quickly, then slips from the room, moving with silent purpose toward a confrontation I can only imagine. I lock the door behind him as instructed, then press my ear against the wood, straining to hear any sign of what might be happening.
Minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. I consider waking Lily and Karen, preparing them for a potential evacuation, but hesitate—alarming them now might create more problems than it solves, especially if Marco manages to contain the situation.
A sudden crash from down the hall shatters the silence—something heavy falling or being thrown. My heart leaps into my throat as shouting follows, though the words are too muffled to distinguish.
Then, a sound that freezes my blood: gunshots. Three in rapid succession.
Before conscious thought can intervene, I'm unlocking the door, driven by instinct rather than reason. Marco could be hurt, could be dying while I cower behind a locked door. I can't simply wait, not knowing whose blood is being spilled just meters away.
The hallway is empty when I emerge, but the door to Marco's office stands partially open, light spilling out into the darkened corridor. I move toward it cautiously, every nerve ending screaming danger.
More voices echo from inside—Marco's and Tony's, both alive, both urgent. Relief washes through me, so powerful it nearly buckles my knees. I step closer, close enough to hear their rapid exchange.
"—must have warned them," Tony is saying, his voice tight with controlled fury. "The Sanctuary is empty. O'Reilly's men cleared out hours ago."
"And Gerald?" Marco asks.
"Gone. His house is abandoned, personal items missing. He's disappeared."
"Find him," Marco orders, his tone leaving no room for failure. "Whatever it takes. And get Damien on the phone—we need to consolidate our forces immediately."
I step into view then, unable to remain hidden any longer. Both men turn sharply at my appearance, Tony's hand instinctively moving toward his weapon before he recognizes me.
"Sasha," Marco says, his expression a complex mixture of relief and frustration. "I told you to stay in the room."
"I heard gunshots," I explain simply, scanning him for injuries. There's blood on his shirt, but he seems unharmed. My gaze shifts to the floor where Michael lies motionless, a dark stain spreading across his chest. "Oh my God."
"He drew first," Tony says, correctly interpreting my shock. "Came at Marco as soon as he entered the office."
Marco moves to me, blocking my view of the body.
Tony's phone buzzes, drawing his attention. Whatever message he receives causes his expression to darken further. "Boss, we've got movement at the perimeter. Multiple vehicles approaching the east gate."
Marco's reaction is immediate. "Initiate lockdown protocols. Full security alert. Get everyone armed and in position." He turns to me, his decision already made. "We need to move you, Lily, and Karen to the panic room. Now."
My mind draws a blank. “What?” Fear clouds everything.
Marco grabs my arm. “Now, Sasha!”