Chapter 19
LEO
The first shot shatters the front window of my office.
I’m on my feet before the glass hits the floor, gun already in my hand even though I don’t remember drawing it. My training immediately kicks in. In this life, hesitation gets you killed.
“What the fuck is going on!” I bark into my phone.
Marcus’s voice comes back tense and clipped. “Brennan. At least fifty men, maybe more. They’re hitting us from—fuck, they’re everywhere, boss. Front gates, I’ve got visual on the tree line to the west—”
The line cuts out as an explosion rocks the house. It’s not close enough to be inside, but close. Too close. I can smell smoke.
Fifty men. Fuck.
I move to the window, keeping low. Broken glass crunches under my shoes.
Through the shattered window I can see at least fifteen men advancing across the front lawn, using the garden walls and fountain for cover.
They have military-grade gear and are moving in coordination.
This isn’t some desperate rescue attempt—this is a coordinated assault.
Connor Brennan finally has declared war.
My security is good. I’ve got sixty men on the property, all armed and trained. But we’re defending, which means we’re at a disadvantage. And fifty to sixty isn’t great odds when they’ve got the element of surprise and the aggression.
Emma. Where’s Emma?
The thought hits me like a punch to the gut. She was in our bedroom this morning. Is she still there? Is she safe? Did Connor send men through the windows, is she already—
No. Focus. I can’t help her if I’m dead.
More gunfire erupts and it’s closer this time. Is it inside the house? I can’t tell. Glass breaks somewhere. Someone screams—one of my men or one of theirs, I don’t know.
“All units,” I say into the radio, my voice calmer than I feel. “Brennan has superior numbers, but we have superior position. Hold your ground. Do not—I repeat, do not—advance beyond the house perimeter. Make them come to us.”
I need to get to Emma. Need to—
My phone rings. Antonio.
“Second floor is secure,” he reports, gunfire crackling in the background. “We’ve got good angles from the balcony, they can’t advance on the front without taking heavy fire.”
“And the west side?” I demand.
“Luca’s got it. They’re testing us but nothing serious yet.”
That’s two sides. Front and west. Which means—
“What about east?” I ask, already heading toward the stairs.
“Haven’t heard from—” Antonio’s voice cuts off as more gunfire erupts. “Fuck, they’re pushing again, I gotta go.”
The line goes dead.
East side. That’s where the service entrance is.
The old access point from when this place was built in the 1920s.
It’s a thick oak door with modern reinforcement, but it’s still the weakest point in the house’s defenses.
The architect who designed the security upgrades wanted to replace it entirely, but I refused because it’s original to the house and has historical value.
I could kick myself now for such stupid fucking sentimental thoughts. And now Connor’s using that weakness against me.
Worse, if they breach that door, they’ll be in the service hallway with direct access to the kitchen, the back stairs, and the whole ground floor. They could spread through the house like wildfire.
I’m running now, sprinting up the stairs. My phone is ringing again but I ignore it. All that matters is getting to Emma, getting her somewhere safe where Connor can’t—
Dante appears at the top of the stairs and I nearly run into him.
Blood is streaming down the side of his face from a cut above his eye, making him look like something from a horror movie. His shirt is torn and there’s more blood. I can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s but his grip on his gun is steady.
“East perimeter,” he says, breathing hard. “Brennan’s men are pushing hard. They’ve got some kind of battering ram—they’re trying to breach the reinforced door. We’re holding them but—”
“How many?” I interrupt.
“Twenty. Maybe twenty-five.” Dante wipes blood from his eye with his sleeve, smearing it across his face. “We’re holding them but not for long. That door wasn’t built for this. Five minutes, maybe ten before they’re through.”
Five minutes. The east perimeter leads to the west wing. To Emma.
“Double the men on that door,” I say, already moving past him. “Use the mounted guns if you have to. Connor doesn’t get inside this house.”
“Where the fuck are you going?” Dante grabs my arm, spinning me around.
“I need to secure Emma.”
“You need to coordinate the defense!” Dante shouts angrily, his cheeks starting to turn flush. “We’re about to be overrun and you’re worried about—”
“About Emma,” I finish, my voice hard. “Yes.”
“We’re all going to die if you don’t focus!” Dante’s grip tightens on my arm. “Forget about the girl for five minutes and help me save your fucking house!”
“I can’t,” I say, and I hear the desperation. “I can’t think if she’s not safe. I can’t focus if I don’t know where she is, if Connor’s gotten to her—”
“Then you’re going to get us all killed!” Dante releases my arm and shoves me backward. “You’re so busy thinking with your dick that you can’t see the bigger picture!”
“Watch it,” I warn, my voice dangerous.
“No, you watch it!” Dante steps forward, getting in my face.
I’ve never seen him so angry before. Gone is my cool, level-headed second.
“You brought her here. You started this war with the Brennans because you wanted revenge. And now that he’s here—now that he’s actually at our gates with fifty fucking men and we’re fighting for our lives—you can’t even focus long enough to save us because you’re too busy worrying about your fucking captive! ”
I see red. Is that how Dante sees her? A captive? Like she’s not everything.
“She’s not,” I start, but Dante cuts me off.
“She is!” he shouts. “She’s Connor Brennan’s daughter and you kidnapped her and now he’s here to take her back and you’re acting like—”
I don’t remember deciding to push him. I don’t remember my hands going to his chest. But suddenly Dante’s stumbling backward into the wall and I’m right there with him, my forearm across his throat.
“Do not ever talk about her like that,” I growl, enjoying how Dante struggles against my grip.
Dante’s eyes flash then his fist is coming at my face. I barely get my head turned in time, but his goddamn knuckles graze my jaw instead of breaking my nose. The impact sends stars across my vision.
I stumble back and Dante comes off the wall swinging. His next punch catches me in the ribs and I grunt, pain exploding through my side but I use the momentum to grab his arm, twist, slam him back into the wall.
“Stop!” I shout, wincing at the pain. Fuck, that hurt.
“You stop!” Dante shouts back, and he uses his free hand to grab my shirt, pulling me close. “You stop thinking about her for five fucking minutes and help me save what’s left of your family! What’s left of your men! They’re dying down there, Leo! They’re dying while you’re up here playing Romeo!”
The words cut through my rage. My men. Dying.
Because I’m not down there leading them. Instead, I’m up here fighting with my consigliere instead of fighting Connor.
Emma has made me weak.
I release Dante and step back, breathing hard. My ribs are screaming where he hit me and I can already feel my jaw swelling.
Dante’s breathing hard too, wiping more blood from his eye. We stare at each other for a long moment, the sounds of gunfire echoing through the house around us.
“Five minutes,” I finally say. “Give me five minutes to secure Emma, and then I’ll take over the east defense myself.”
“We might not have five minutes,” Dante argues, but some of the anger has drained from him.
“Then buy me the time,” I say. “Please, Dante. I need to know she’s safe. I need—” My voice cracks. “I can’t lose her.”
Dante looks at me for a long moment. His expression softens slightly, though his eyes are still hard with frustration.
“Five minutes,” he finally agrees. “After that, we’re going to be fighting them in the hallways. And if you’re not there, we’re all dead. Including Emma.”
No one is getting to Emma to hurt her. “I’ll be there,” I promise.
Dante nods once, then turns and runs back toward the east perimeter.
I can’t fight and protect Emma at the same time so I need her somewhere secure, where I know she can’t be reached.
Our bedroom first. I burst through the door, gun still in hand, my heart pounding. “Emma!”
Empty. The bed is made. The bathroom door is open, showing an empty room beyond. No sign of her.
The library. She’s always in the library.
I run down the hallway, my footsteps echoing, my mind going to all the worst possibilities. What if she’s already in her father’s hands?
The library is empty too. Books undisturbed on the shelves. Her favorite chair is vacant. The window is intact.
Where the fuck is she?
Panic is clawing at my throat now. I’m checking rooms as I pass them. All empty. All silent except for the distant sounds of gunfire that remind me I’m wasting time. My men are dying while I’m searching the house like a madman.
But I can’t do anything until I know where Emma is.
My phone rings—Antonio—and I almost don’t answer it, but training overrides panic.
“Status,” I bark.
“Front’s holding. Where are you?”
“Finding Emma,” I say, rounding a corner sharply, my breath ragged. Fuck, if I survive this, I’m hitting the gym three times a day. “Have you seen her? Has anyone seen her?”
“Negative,” Antonio says urgently. “Leo, we need you down here—”
I hang up and keep searching.
The east wing. Maybe she heard the assault starting on that side and went to see what was happening, maybe she’s hiding in one of those rooms—
Then I see her.
West wing. She’s near her old bedroom. Why the hell would she be over here? But the thought dissolves because relief hits me so hard I nearly stagger.
She’s pressed against the wall, her face white as a sheet, eyes huge. But when she sees me, relief floods her features and she practically runs to me.