7. Chapter 7 - The Attack
Roman
The rain had started as a drizzle during the charity luncheon, but by the time we were leaving the community center, it had become a downpour. Typical Valerian autumn weather—relentless, gray, and miserable.
"Motorcade is ready, Mr. Sterling," Marcus said, his voice crackling through my earpiece. "The route is secure. We'll take you back to the palace."
I nodded at Gabriella, who was finishing a conversation with the center's director. She looked radiant in a deep blue coat that brought out the color of her eyes, her pregnant belly a proud, protective curve beneath the expensive wool.
"Ready?" I asked, offering her my arm.
"Ready," she agreed with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She'd been quiet all day, distant despite the intimacy we'd shared the night before. The weight of the threats, the uncertainty of Isabella's presence, the constant vigilance—it was wearing her down, even if she'd never admit it.
The motorcade was standard: two lead security vehicles, our armored limousine, two follow vehicles. Marcus rode shotgun in the front passenger seat, his eyes constantly moving, his body coiled with the readiness that had become his natural state.
"Is everything clear?" Gabriella asked as we settled into the back seat, the partition already raised for privacy.
"The route is green," Marcus confirmed. "We should be at the palace in twenty minutes."
I took her hand, my thumb stroking her knuckles. "You were wonderful today. The children loved you."
"Children are honest," she said with a small smile. "They haven't learned to dissemble yet. They either like you or they don't."
"They liked you," I said. "How could they not?"
Her smile widened, but her eyes remained troubled. "Roman, about last night—"
"Later," I interrupted gently. "Whatever it is, we'll talk about it later. When we're home. When we're safe."
The word "safe" hung in the air between us, a reminder that safety was always temporary, always conditional, always an illusion we maintained rather than a reality we possessed.
We were five minutes from the palace, moving through the historic district with its cobblestone streets and ancient buildings, when the first explosion rocked our limousine.
The lead vehicle erupted in a ball of flame and shrapnel, the force of the blast sending our car careening into a stone wall. Gabriella screamed, her hands flying to her stomach as the world dissolved into chaos.
"Stay down!" Marcus yelled, his gun already drawn as he kicked his door open. "Stay in the car!"
But the second explosion came before he could exit, this one from the rear, destroying the following vehicle and trapping us between two burning wrecks. The acrid smell of smoke and gasoline filled the limousine, mingling with Gabriella's panicked breathing and the pounding of my own heart.
"Roman," she gasped, her face pale, her eyes wide with terror. "The baby..."
I moved instinctively, covering her body with mine, my mind racing through scenarios, contingencies, outcomes. This was my nightmare. This was the scenario that kept me awake at night. This was the moment I had been preparing for since the day I met her.
"Stay calm," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Stay down. Marcus will handle this."
But Marcus was already engaged, his movements efficient and deadly as he fired at figures emerging from the smoke. Three attackers. Four. Maybe more. It was hard to tell through the haze and confusion.
"Get her out!" Marcus yelled over the gunfire. "Now! Go!"
I didn't hesitate. I shoved the door open, pulling Gabriella behind me, using my body as a shield as we stumbled into the street. The cobblestones were slick with rain, the air thick with smoke and the coppery smell of blood.
"Run," I commanded, pushing her toward an alley between two ancient buildings. "Run and don't look back."
But she wouldn't leave me. Of course she wouldn't leave me. She turned back, her face streaked with tears and soot, her expression defiant. "Not without you."
That's when I saw it. The third attacker, emerging from the smoke with a military-grade rifle aimed directly at Gabriella's back.
Time slowed, stretched, distorted. I saw the trajectory of the bullet, the impact it would make, the life it would take. I saw Gabriella falling, her body broken, our daughter dying inside her. I saw the future we had planned disintegrating in a spray of blood and violence.
And I moved.
Not thinking. Not calculating. Not strategizing. Just moving. Intercepting. Protecting.
The gun was in my hand before I remembered drawing it, the weight familiar and foreign all at once. The attacker's eyes widened in surprise as I closed the distance between us, his rifle swinging toward me, his finger tightening on the trigger.
I fired first.
Three shots. Center mass. The way I'd practiced at the range, the way Marcus had taught me, the way I had hoped I would never have to do in reality.
The attacker stumbled back, his rifle clattering to the cobblestones, his expression more surprised than pained. He looked down at the blood spreading across his chest, then back at me, his eyes already glazing with death.
And he fell.
I stood over him, the gun still in my hand, the smoke curling from the barrel, the rain washing blood across the ancient stones. I had killed a man. I had taken a life. I had crossed a line I could never uncross.
"Roman!"
Gabriella's voice pulled me back from the edge of the abyss. I turned, and the world came rushing back in. Her face, pale and terrified; Marcus, wounded but still fighting; the remaining attackers, regrouping, advancing.
"Get her out of here!" Marcus yelled, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle, blood soaking his shirt. "Now!"
I grabbed Gabriella, pulling her toward the alley, away from the carnage, away from the man I had killed. But she resisted, her eyes fixed on Marcus.
"We can't leave him," she said, her voice breaking. "We can't."
"He's right," Marcus gasped, firing at another attacker. "Get her out. Go!"
The alley was narrow, dark, and seemingly endless. We ran, Gabriella's hand clamped in mine, her breathing ragged, her body moving on pure adrenaline. Behind us, the sounds of gunfire continued, then faded as we put distance between ourselves and the ambush.
We emerged blocks away, disoriented and breathless, into a square that had been untouched by the violence. Tourists milled about, taking pictures, buying souvenirs, living their lives as if the world wasn't tearing itself apart just streets away.
"Roman," Gabriella gasped, leaning against a wall, her face ashen. "Marcus..."
I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking so badly I could barely dial. "Marcus," I said into the phone when someone answered. "Report."
"Mr. Sterling," a voice I didn't recognize replied. "Thorne is down but stable. Two attackers neutralized, two captured. The area is secure. Where are you? We need to extract you."
I gave him our location, then ended the call, my eyes finding Gabriella's. She was staring at me, her expression unreadable.
"You killed him," she said, her voice flat. "You killed one of them."
"He was going to kill you," I replied, my voice rough with emotion. "I had no choice."
"Always a choice," she countered, her voice rising. "Always another way."
"Not when they're aiming a rifle at your back," I shot back, my own anger rising, fueled by adrenaline and fear and the visceral reality of what I had just done. "Not when they're trying to kill our daughter!"
"Don't you dare use her to justify this!" she yelled, her face flushed with fury. "Don't you dare hide behind her to excuse what you've become!"
"What I've become?" I demanded, my voice dangerously low. "I became the man who saved your life! I became the man who was willing to do whatever it takes to protect our family! I became the man you needed me to be!"
"The man I needed?" she shot back, her eyes blazing. "I needed a partner, Roman! I needed someone to face this with me, not someone who would solve every problem with violence! I needed someone who would find another way!"
"There was no other way!" I yelled, grabbing her arms, my frustration boiling over. "There was no time for negotiation, no time for strategy, no time for anything but the split-second decision between your life and his! I chose yours! I would always choose yours!"
"And what about next time?" she demanded, tears streaming down her face. "What about the time after that? How many people will you kill to protect me? How many lines will you cross? How much of yourself will you sacrifice until there's nothing left of the man I fell in love with?"
I released her as if she'd burned me, stepping back, the reality of what I had done crashing down on me. The man I had killed. The life I had taken. The line I had crossed.
"I did it for you," I said, my voice breaking. "I would do anything for you."
"I know," she whispered, her anger deflating into sorrow. "That's what frightens me."
The security team arrived then, surrounding us, escorting us to a waiting vehicle. The ride back to the palace was silent, the space between us filled with everything we couldn't say, everything we couldn't undo.
I had killed a man to save her.
And in doing so, I had broken something between us that might never be repaired.