Page 117 of Broken By Silence
“And you will, by making sure we aren’t focusing on you too,” Archer says. “I’m sorry. I know, because if someone told me I had to sit and wait, I would be clawing at the walls to get to her. But the fact is, you’re a liability. Every single person in this room has been trained to fight. You haven’t.”
Claire steps forward, hand on his arm,firm. “We know what you feel, Peter. But this isn’t about guilt. It’s about getting her back in one piece. If you go in with us, you’ll get yourself killed, and they’ll keep her as a bargaining chip.” Her voice is soft, but there’s something under it telling him not to argue with her.
Will doesn’t look at me when he speaks. He’s looking at Peter. “You can come,” he says, slow, measured. “But you stay in the van. You don’t climb out unless I tell you to. You understand me? You sit, you watch, and you call no one. If anything goes sideways, if she comes running out and it looks like we aren’t following, you promise me that you will do everything you can to get her out of there.”
Peter blinks at him. “I’ll do anything. I just don’t want to be useless.”
The look he gives Peter has no room for theatrics. “Say the words.”
Peter swallows and almost whispers, “I promise. I’ll stay in the van. I’ll wait. I’ll… I’ll get her out of there.”
Will’s mouth tightens, and then he nods. “Good. Because if you move, you’re a liability. If you’re a liability, we leave you and get her. Understood?”
Peter’s jaw works. “Understood.”
We layout the plan again, faster this time. Will’s been doing this long enough that his calm is surgical; he hands out orders and roles without breaking a sweat. Roman takes the west flank with Archer to his side, exploiting the service entrance. Crew and Oscar take the approach to the glass doors, clearing the lawn. Claire is with Will while Peter goes to the van. Will has men positioned with him, and Pacheco and his men are to come from the south exit, taking out the last of the guards.
I go through the study. That gets me closest to the garden altar where they’ve been staging this farce.
We kit up in the room. Will checks his piece once, twice, looks up at us like a man who’s both judge and jury. “No bullshit,” he says. “We bring her back. We walk away. If anyone gets in the way, you do what you need to do. I don’t care if there are guests… if they try to stop us, they’re dead.”
Peter stands on the threshold as we file out. For a moment, he’s a statue—nobody tells him he can’t come, but nobody gives him a weapon either. He places the photograph back in his pocket like it’s a talisman and nods his head.
We climb into the vehicles. Will takes the wheel of the lead van, Claire beside him, Peter in the back, ready to jump into the driver’s seat when we get there. Roman and Archer pile into the second. Crew and Oscar into the rear. I sit on the edge of the seat, fingers pressed to the outline of my gun until the shape feels like a second heartbeat.
The estate is the same—stone and iron and a manicured arrogance that looks obscene. From a distance, it could be a postcard… From close up, it’s a trap with a pretty face.
We split exactly like the plan. We move through shadow and undergrowth like a single unit, and as I slip across the threshold into the house that holds my wife hostage, I know I’m not leaving here without her.
Gunfire rips through the halls,close enough that I can taste the smoke. My ears ring, but I keep moving. Fast. Precise. One man drops by the stairwell—a clean shot through the chest. Another tries to raise his weapon, but Roman takes him out before he can even blink.
We meet in the foyer, then move like a single force—Crew, Roman, Oscar, Archer, and me—cutting through Lorenzo’s estate one corridor at a time.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
My pulse is a hammer. Every breath burns. But I don’t stop. Ican’t. Because at the end of all this, through all of this chaos, through this fucking house, is her.
Lottie.
My wife.
I can see flashes of white through the windows as we turn the final corner. The garden, all lace and roses and rot. The music drifts faintly, soft and elegant, like none of this blood exists.
Through the glass doors, I see them, and my stomach twists at the sight of her in that dress. The bastard put her in white.
Lorenzo stands beside her, his hand holding hers like she’s a possession. My vision tunnels.
He took her from us.Bruised her. Broke her once and is trying to do it again.
She's mine to protect. I'll tear apart anyone who thinks they can hurt her again—even if I have to burn the world to do it.
We reach the glass doors that open to the garden. I don’t hesitate. I slam them open so hard they shatter. The sound echoes across the yard, and heads turn.
Lorenzo’s face twists in shock as I step into the light.
“I object,” I say, voice cold, steady, deadly. I raise my gun, the barrel aimed straight at his heart. “Now get your hands off my fucking wife.”
