“Boss,” a gruff voice crackled through the encrypted intercom speaker by the door. “We have movement in the service elevator shaft. Four uninvited guests. They bypassed the biometric scanner on level four using a military-grade decryption key.”
Elias didn’t flinch. His expression remained as cold and immovable as carved granite. He reached behind his tailored wool vest, unholstering a sleek, suppressed semi-automatic pistol with practiced, fluid ease, and checked the magazine clip with a sharp clack.
“Let them come up to level five,” Elias commanded into the comm-link, his voice unnervingly calm. “Do not engage in the corridors. I want them inside the foyer.”
“Understood, boss.”
I scrambled out of the bed, my bare feet hitting the plush Persian rug as I rushed over to the bassinet to shield my sleeping babies with my own body. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Elias... they’re going to kill us,” I choked out, terror gripping my throat. “If Blackwood’s men are here, they know about the girls. They won't leave any witnesses.”
Elias walked over, his heavy footsteps muffled by the carpet, and gently placed a large, calloused hand on my shaking shoulder. His touch was surprisingly steady, radiating a strange, absolute authority that made me feel safer than I had ever felt with Victor during three years of marriage.
“Listen to me, Ava,” Elias said, looking directly into my eyes. “No one touches those children while I draw breath. Not Blackwood, not Victor, and not a single soul in this city. You are inside my fortress now.”
He turned away, walking toward the heavy double doors connecting the master bedroom to the private elevator foyer. He gestured to two of his elite bodyguards standing silently in the shadows by the hallway.
“Secure the perimeter of the nursery,” Elias ordered the guards. “If anyone breaches this door who isn't wearing Vance colors, put them down.”
Ding.
The soft chime of the private elevator echoed through the penthouse suite.
The heavy steel doors parted with a mechanical hiss.
Four men in sleek, charcoal-gray tactical suits stepped out into the dimly lit foyer. They wore reinforced ballistic vests and carried submachine guns with suppressed barrels, moving with the cold, calculated efficiency of professional hit squads.
At the front of the group walked a tall man with slicked-back blonde hair, a sharp scar running down his left jawline, and eyes as dead as winter stone.
It was Marcus Vance—no relation to Elias, despite the stolen name—Blackwood’s chief enforcer in the tri-state area.
Marcus stepped past the shattered glass of a decorative vase, raising his weapon as he scanned the empty hallway. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his scarred lips.
“Elias!” Marcus called out, his voice echoing off the mahogany walls. “We know you have the woman and the brats. Hand them over quietly, and maybe Boss Blackwood will let you keep your eastern shipping docks. Resist, and we burn this entire building to the ground with all of you inside.”
From the shadows of the study doorway, Elias stepped out into the open. He didn't raise his weapon immediately. He simply stood there, hands resting loosely at his sides, looking at Marcus the way a lion looks at a stray dog wandering into its territory.
“Marcus,” Elias greeted, his voice dripping with icy contempt. “You’ve grown careless in your old age. Coming into my house uninvited? Did Blackwood forget to teach you manners, or were you just in a hurry to dig your own grave?”
Marcus’s smile vanished. He jerked his submachine gun upward, leveling the barrel straight at Elias’s chest.
“Kill him!” Marcus roared to his men.
Before the first terrorist could even squeeze his trigger, the entire ceiling above the foyer erupted in a deafening roar of gunfire.