Chapter 6 - The Longest Night
The attack came at 2:14 a.m. on Friday morning.
It didn't begin with a loud explosion or a storming of the gates; it began with a coordinated cyber-assault that dropped the power grid across a four-block radius of the North Side, plunging the Cross estate into total, impenetrable darkness. Within three seconds, the mansion’s backup generators roared to life, a low, industrial vibration that rattled the concrete walls of the underground bunker where Nora sat holding Wren.
Through the closed-circuit security monitors mounted on the wall of the bunker, Nora could see the perimeter fence lighting up with a dozen white flashes.
Dominic Barrett’s mercenaries had used thermite lances to cut through the reinforced steel bars of the outer gate. Four heavy, gray armored vans smashed through the stone pillars, their tires throwing up gravel as they spun into the grand courtyard.
"Stay behind the divider, Nora," Vincent Kane said, his voice coming through a portable radio receiver sitting on the table beside her. He was up in the main security room on the first floor, his fingers flying over the defensive console. "They’ve brought sixty guys. Mostly heavy muscle from out of state. They don't know the layout of the interior."
Through the monitors, Nora watched the front doors of the mansion explode inward in a shower of oak splinters and glass.
Men in tactical gear, carrying short-barreled automatic weapons, flooded the marble hallway—the same hallway she had scrubbed on her knees just four days ago. They moved in stacks of four, their flashlights cutting through the dust and cordite smoke.
Then, Stellan appeared on the screen.
He was standing at the top of the grand marble staircase, a heavy, black combat shotgun held loosely in his right hand. He didn't have a vest on; he wore only his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his face cast in the pale green light of the emergency exit signs.
"Dominic!" Stellan’s voice roared through the intercom system, echoing through the halls of the house and the speakers of the bunker. "You came into my house to look for a document? I’m right here! Come and take it!"
The mercenaries opened fire instantly, a blinding storm of muzzle flashes lighting up the staircase. But Stellan had already dropped behind the reinforced stone balustrade, his shotgun barking in a steady, rhythmic cadence that dropped three men in the first stack before they could even reach the landing.
The firefight shifted into the corridors, a chaotic, bloody maze of close-quarters violence that turned the premium Italian marble floors into a slick, red landscape. Nora covered Wren’s ears, pressing her face against her daughter’s soft hair as the muffled thud-thud-thud of explosions and gunfire vibrated down through the ceiling ventilation.
For forty minutes, the estate held its breath.
On the monitors, the numbers were shifting. Dominic’s men were professional, but they were fighting in a house that had been specifically designed by Stellan’s father to function as a fortress. Hidden gun ports in the wood paneling, pressure-plate explosives beneath the Persian rugs, and the absolute, lethal precision of Stellan’s personal guard systematically cut the strike team to pieces.
By 3:00 a.m., the main hallway was quiet again, the smoke clearing to reveal twenty-four bodies slumped against the antique furniture.
The lead SUV in the courtyard shifted into reverse, its tires screaming as it tried to flee through the ruined gate. But Vincent Kane had already activated the secondary steel barriers—three heavy, iron blocks that rose from the gravel drive, catching the vehicle squarely under the axle and flipping it onto its side in a shower of sparks.
Vincent’s voice came through the radio, crisp and calm. "Perimeter secure, Boss. The remaining shooters are dropping their weapons in the garden. We’ve got twelve alive."
"And Dominic?" Stellan’s voice answered over the wire, his breathing heavy but controlled.
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"He was in the lead van," Vincent said, looking at a monitor displaying the flipped vehicle. "He’s pinned under the dashboard. He’s alive, but he isn't going anywhere."
Nora let out a long, ragged breath she felt she’d been holding since Tuesday morning. She looked down at Wren, who had slept through the entire battle, her thumb tucked securely into her mouth, entirely unaware that thirty men had just died to keep her alive.
