Page 84 of Mafia Kingdom

The trivial concern for my dog amid a looming armed assault should be absurd, but Marco doesn't dismiss it. "Bring him too," he says. "Tony, escort them to the panic room."

Tony nods, already checking his weapon. "This way, Sasha."

I start to follow, then turn back, suddenly seized by the terrible certainty that this might be the last time I see Marco alive. The O'Reillys wouldn't mount an assault on the Walsh estate without overwhelming force. The odds against him are staggering.

"Marco," I begin, but words fail me. What can I possibly say in this moment that would encompass everything I feel, everything I fear we might lose?

He seems to understand without explanation, crossing to me in two swift strides and pulling me into a fierce embrace. "When this is over, I'll come for you. Just keep Lily safe until then."

I cling to him, memorizing the feel of his arms around me, the scent of him, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. Then I make myself let go, step back, reclaim the strength I'll need to protect my sister.

"Don't you dare die on me, Marco Walsh," I say firmly, willing it to be a command the universe must obey.

The ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Yes, ma'am."

Then he's gone, striding down the hallway toward the command center where he'll direct the estate's defense. Tony nudges me gently in the opposite direction, toward Lily's room.

"He'll be alright," Tony says. "I've seen him get out of worse situations."

I nod, hoping desperately that he's right, and focus on what I can control—getting my family to safety.

Lily is surprisingly calm when I wake her, as if midnight evacuations amid security threats are perfectly normal occurrences in her nine-year-old life. She takes my urgently whispered instructions in stride, gathering her stuffed rabbit and following me without question. Buddy trots alongside her, seemingly attuned to the tension.

Karen is another matter entirely. She meets us at her bedroom door, already dressed, her face pale with fear and anger. "What's happening now?" she demands. "More of Marco's gangster business?"

"The estate is under attack," I say bluntly, having neither time nor patience for gentler explanations. "We need to get to the panic room. Now."

Her eyes widen, darting to Lily, who stands quiet but alert at my side. Whatever protest she was preparing dies on her lips at the sight of her niece's vulnerability. "Lead the way," she says instead, her voice tight but controlled.

Tony guides us through the maze of corridors, moving swiftly but cautiously. Through windows, I catch glimpses of men taking positions across the estate grounds, weapons ready, faces grim. In the distance, headlights approach—multiple vehicles moving with purposeful coordination.

"How many?" I ask Tony, nodding toward the approaching threat.

"Too many," he answers grimly. "At least thirty men, based on initial counts. They're well-equipped, too."

The assessment sends ice through my veins.

The panic room is located in the heart of the estate, a reinforced bunker disguised behind an ordinary-looking door in the library. Tony leads us inside, activating a series of locks that would give a bank vault envy.

"This room is completely secure," he explains, gesturing to the spartan but functional space. "Bullet-proof, blast-resistant, with independent air supply and communications. There's food, water, medical supplies—everything you need to last for several days if necessary."

Lily explores the space with wide-eyed curiosity, seemingly more intrigued than frightened by our circumstances. Karen sinks onto one of the cots provided; her expression is one of numb disbelief. Buddy circles the perimeter, sniffing every corner before settling protectively at Lily's feet.

"How will we know what's happening outside?" I ask, already dreading the ignorance that awaits us in this sealed chamber.

Tony indicates a bank of monitors along one wall. "Security feeds from throughout the estate. You'll be able to see most of what's happening. There's also a direct communication line to the command center where Marco will be coordinating our defense."

The monitors flicker to life, displaying multiple angles of the estate—entrances, hallways, the perimeter fence. On several screens, I can see Walsh security personnel taking defensive positions, their movements swift and practiced.

And on one monitor, the approaching threat comes into clear view—a convoy of black SUVs and tactical vehicles approaching the main gate with ominous purpose.

"They'll be here in minutes," Tony says, checking his weapon one final time. "I need to join the defense team."

Part of me wants to go with him, to stand beside Marco rather than hiding in this reinforced cage. But Lily's presence anchors me to reality, to responsibility. My sister needs me here, not playing at being a soldier in a war I barely understand.

"Keep safe," I tell Tony instead, clasping his arm briefly.

He nods, and then he's gone, the heavy door sealing behind him with a series of electronic beeps and mechanical thuds. We're locked in, protected, and imprisoned simultaneously.

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