Page 9 of Crimson Reign

Matteo

Somethingiswrong.

Bang!

The sound of glass shattering jolts me awake.

My body reacts before my mind fully registers what's happening. I grab my gun and hurry to the bedroom.

"Elena!" I call out, keeping my voice low but urgent.

Gunshots hit the wall beside me, and I duck, returning fire without hesitation. Two shots, two bodies hit the floor. But there are more coming.

"Matteo!" Elena's voice, sharp with fear. At least she's awake and hopefully unhurt.

I back toward the bedroom, maintaining cover fire as I go. "Get Fiona. Stay low. Move to the bathroom."

When I reach the bedroom, Elena is already clutching Fiona to her chest, the child mercifully asleep.

Elena's eyes are wide with terror, her body trembling.

"Caruso's men?" she whispers.

"Yes." I grab her arm, pulling her toward the bathroom. "Safe room behind the shower tile. Press the third tile from the left, second row down."

More glass shatters in the living room. Heavy footsteps. I count four, maybe five hostiles.

Elena follows my instructions, finding the hidden panel. The door slides open to reveal a steel-reinforced panic room barely big enough for two adults. She hesitates.

"What about you?"

"I'll hold them off. Go."

She shakes her head. "You'll die."

"Not today." I check my magazine. Six rounds left, plus another full clip in my pocket. "Get in the fucking room, Elena."

She cradles Fiona tighter and steps inside.

"Don't open this door for anyone but me or Nico. Understand?"

She nods, her eyes locked on mine. For a heartbeat, something passes between us. Then I close the panel, sealing them inside.

I position myself in the hallway, using the bedroom doorframe as cover. Two Caruso soldiers appear. I don't give them time to aim. Two shots, two more bodies on my floor.

My phone vibrates. A text from Julian:Two minutes out with backup.

Fucking Julian. He should have been here already, monitoring the perimeter.

If Elena and her daughter die because of his incompetence, I'll put a bullet in his skull myself.

Footsteps approach from the kitchen—they've found the back entrance. I'm outnumbered and running out of ammunition.

The first man rounds the corner, and I put a bullet between his eyes. The second grazes my shoulder before my return fire catches him in the throat.

The third man keeps covering, firing blindly around the corner. I count his shots, waiting for the empty chamber to click. When it comes, I surge forward. His eyes widen as I appear. My knife slides between his ribs with practiced precision.

Suddenly, the apartment goes quiet. Too quiet.

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