Chapter 6 - The Siege of Lake Forest
The heavy steel door of the bunker vibrated as a thermite charge exploded on the outer hinge. A thin wisp of acrid, gray smoke began to curl through the rubber seal at the top of the frame.
Lorenzo didn't look at the door. His eyes were still fixed on Sophia's face, his hand tightening around hers until the white sports tape on his palm began to show a faint trace of fresh red.
"The upload is at forty percent," Lorenzo said, glance darting toward the secondary monitor where a blue progress bar was creeping across the screen. "We need ten minutes, Sophia. Just ten minutes before the feds have enough data to issue the emergency warrants."
"They're through the first lock," Sophia said, her voice remarkably calm despite the thunderous metallic screech coming from the door hinges. The fear that had paralyzed her in Victor Hale’s warehouse was gone, replaced by a quiet, absolute certainty. She was with Enzo now. If she was going to die, she would die in the only place where she had ever felt truly alive.
Lorenzo stepped away from the console, walking over to the heavy weapons rack on the back wall. He pulled down a tactical vest, throwing it over his cashmere sweater, and loaded three fresh magazines into his submachine gun.
"Get under the steel desk, Sophia," he ordered, his voice returning to that crisp, authoritative register that tolerated no argument. "The glass on these monitor screens isn't ballistic. If they throw a flashbang through that breach, close your eyes and cover your ears."
"Enzo, look at me," she said, refusing to move toward the desk.
He paused, his hand on a fresh magazine, his gray eyes meeting hers through the dim red glow of the emergency lights.
"If we don't make it out of this room," she said softly, "I don't regret the Green Mill. I don't regret a single rainy sidewalk."
Lorenzo’s expression cracked completely, the stone face of the North Shore King dissolving into the raw, beautiful agony of the man who had held her in the dark four months ago. He took two long strides across the concrete floor, his left arm catching her waist and pulling her against his chest with a sudden, fierce intensity that took the breath from her lungs.
He kissed her.
It was a reclamation—hard, desperate, and tasting of copper and the cold river air that had haunted both of their dreams since the night he left. He buried his face in her brown hair, his long fingers tangling in the silk of her emerald green nightgown.
"I am not going to let them take you, Sophia," he whispered fiercely into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I’ve spent four months living like a ghost so you could breathe clean air. I am not going to let Marcone turn my sanctuary into a graveyard."
A violent boom rocked the room as the secondary deadbolt on the steel door gave way. The door swung open three inches, revealing the dark, tactical-helmeted figures of Marcone’s elite hit crew waiting in the corridor.
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Lorenzo pushed her beneath the massive steel desk, his body instantly shifting into a low, defensive stance as he raised his weapon toward the breach.
"Time’s up," he muttered, and the room exploded into a symphony of fire and lead.
