Page 122 of Stricken

Seconds feel like hours while we wait. The fireplace crackles softly. The candles continue to burn. My pulse is a dull roar in my ears.

I glance at my uncle, hunched at the desk. There's fear embedded into the lines of his face. He's aged even more since I last saw him. As if it's been a decade and not days.

The door bursts open, and one of the Hellhounds rushes in, pale. "There are armed men outside. Too many."

And then everything shatters. The office windows splinter wildly, shards of glass like vicious teeth flying while rain and bodies zoom into the room. Black-clad figures, anonymous, armed.

No time for thought. Pure instinct takes over as chaos detonates around us. We're scrambling, a crush of panic-fueled motion toward the door. Two of Vlad's men seize Tony, dragging him out into the corridor.

Salvatore and Claudio are swept up in this madness too. I wish I could ignore my useless cousin, but abandoning him feels reckless.

We run. Turn the corner. Then turn another.

"Over here," Claudio barks, pointing to a spot on the wall at the end of the hallway. He tilts a painting sideways—a trick I never knew he had up his sleeve—and part of the wall slides open like magic.

We tumble into the hidden chamber in a flurry of limbs and breaths held tight. I lose track of who's who in our group—all that matters is that Vlad's here beside me.

And for a second I think he got left behind, but as I pivot at the sound of the door sliding shut, I see his silhouette, the last to get in.

The air tastes sharp, metallic with the gunpowder that buzzes on the tip of my tongue.

Fabrics brush against skins like cool whispers while bodies shift and shuffle in the dark. A click. Then a candle comes to life, lighting up the room.

It's eight of us. Tony, Vlad, Sal, myself, Claudio, and three Hellhounds. Two are restraining Salvatore, and one is holding my uncle upright.

Ivan is not with us, I realize.

Our breaths are loud, labored—a shared sound of fear. And beneath it all lingers another scent: something acrid and unsettling—the terror of the unknown that's seeped into everything around us.

Outside this secret space, chaos reigns. Gunfire snaps sporadically in the distance. Voices clash.

Suddenly, the wall trembles violently—the impact of bodies colliding against it on the other side of this room.

We freeze, all of us on high alert.

The noise is there one minute and gone the next, moving elsewhere, away from our temporary sanctuary.

Vlad directs his stare at Claudio. "Can they hear us from the outside?" he asks quietly after a few moments of relative silence.

The consigliere shakes his head. "This room is soundproof."

"Good." Vlad gestures at his man, who assists Uncle into one of the two armchairs. Salvatore is still restrained and Claudio, ever the sly fox he is, swiftly places himself behind Tony.

Vlad walks over to the second armchair and drags it into the center of the space. Then drops into it, resting his gun on his thigh, the barrel pointed at Salvatore.

"Nico has something to say," he announces matter-of-factly as if the house isn't under fire and this is just a chitchat between old buddies.

Salvatore seethes in the corner, his eyes darting from his father to me and back. "This is insanity," he spits. "Tell your dogs to let me go, Solovey."

"Do not bark your orders at me." Vlad leans forward a little. A sinister smile appears on his lips. I don't think I've seen that smile before. Vlad Solovey is not the kind of person who smiles a lot in general. And when he does he means it. "I'm just a hired gun tonight."

"Dad!" Sal shifts his attention to Tony. "You're really going to believe this... thisbastardoover your own flesh and blood?"

I step forward, my fists clenched at my sides so hard that my bones might burst through my skin. "Enough, cousin. It's time to stop hiding behind your lies."

Tony lifts a weary hand, shadows pooling beneath his tired eyes as he looks at me, really looks. Disgust radiates from him in waves, stirring something sour within me—bile or truth; hard to tell which is more bitter.

"Explain yourself, Nicola. Make this make sense," Uncle rasps out. "What proof do you have? Because you came in here, barged into my home with the men that are loyal to the enemy."

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