Chapter 18 - The Safehouse Trap
"Claire! Down!"
Adrian’s roar cut through the chaos of shattering glass and screaming guests.
I didn't hesitate.
I threw my body against the marble pillar, curling myself tightly around Sophia, shielding her head with my torso.
Gunfire erupted in the pitch darkness—suppressed, professional pops that tore through the plush velvet drapery and cracked into the plaster walls.
Sophia screamed, terrified by the sudden noise and chaos.
"Mama's here, sweet girl, Mama's here," I sobbed into her blanket, my teeth gritted, refusing to let go even as concrete dust rained down on my back.
A muzzle flash illuminated the darkness for a split second.
Adrian was moving like a phantom.
I saw him disarm a shadowy figure in a tactical vest, slamming the man’s throat into the edge of a mahogany banquet table with bone-splintering force.
In another blur of movement, Adrian caught the fallen operative's firearm and fired three double-taps into the darkness.
Three heavy bodies hit the marble floor.
"Clear the east exit!" a voice barked over a tactical radio.
"Target the child!"
"Touch my daughter and you will choke on your own entrails!" Adrian’s voice boomed through the hall with terrifying savagery.
Suddenly, emergency battery lights flickered to life, bathing the ballroom in an eerie, bloody red glow.
A dozen masked gunmen in tactical gear were pouring through the service corridors.
These were not Victoria’s personal bodyguards.
They bore the jagged double-wolf tattoo of the Markov Bratva—the remnants of the Russian cartel Adrian had dismantled in Prague.
They hadn't come for the Vance money.
They had come for vengeance.
"Marcus!" Adrian bellowed, shockingly calling out to his mother's loyal messenger who was crouched behind a bar station.
"The kitchen tunnel! Now!"
Marcus, blood streaming down his temple from a flying glass shard, exchanged a wild look with Adrian.
In that split second, the old loyalty between men who had survived gang wars superseded corporate politics.
Marcus pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster and fired into the flank of the advancing Russians.
"Go, Mr. Vance!" Marcus yelled.
"I'll seal the service freight!"
Adrian rushed to my side, his arm scooping me up by the waist while his body formed an impenetrable human shield around us.
He fired behind him without looking, driving the gunmen back behind the marble columns.
"Move, Claire! Don't look back!"
We sprinted through the swinging doors of the industrial kitchen, our shoes slipping on spilled sauces and shattered porcelain.
We burst out of the loading dock into the rainy New York alleyway, where Adrian’s armored SUV was already idling, driven by a battered Havenbrook local who had driven through the night to serve as our extraction.
Bullets ricocheted off the reinforced steel frame as Adrian threw me and Sophia into the backseat and leaped in behind us.
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The SUV tore out of the alley, leaving the chaos behind, but as we merged onto the wet highway, I noticed something horrifying.
Adrian’s white shirt was completely soaked through with dark, glistening crimson.
