Chapter 21
Chapter 21: The Symphony of Gunsmoke
The heavy oak doors of the DeLuca mansion didn't just open; they groaned under the weight of the freezing gale that escorted Preston Whitcomb’s vanguard into the foyer. The elegant marble entrance, which had recently echoed with the innocent laughter of children, was instantly stained by the slush of combat boots.
Enzo didn't wait for them to clear the threshold. From the shadow of the grand curved staircase, his weapon spoke first—a deafening, calculated double-tap that dropped the lead mercenary before his tactical flashlight could sweep the room.
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"Spread out! Secure the stairs!" a voice barked from the darkness of the driveway. It wasn't Preston’s voice; it was younger, cruder, hardened by years in Eastern European black sites.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the grand foyer in jagged, staccato bursts, shattering the crystal chandelier overhead. Raindrops of glass cascaded onto the marble floor, mimicking the broken pearls of their wedding night. Upstairs, Harper pressed her hands against her rounded stomach, feeling the frantic, rapid pulse of her unborn child. She wasn't shaking from fear; she was counting the caliber changes in the gunfire below. She knew the precise, rhythmic thud of Enzo’s custom Sig Sauer. As long as that sound continued, the world was still spinning.
