The storm didn't let up.
It swallowed the villa, the world beyond it reduced to the pounding of rain and the crackle of distant thunder. Every gust rattled the shutters like impatient fists.
Kairo shoved the heavy oak table against the main entryway, its legs scraping across marble. Elira was already at the windows, locking every latch, pulling thick curtains across the glass to break line of sight.
"Generators?" she asked.
"Dead." He didn't look up from wedging the table tighter. "Cut deliberately. We're running on what's left in the batteries."
"Which is what—an hour?"
"Less."
She bit down on the curse. "You think they'll wait it out?"
Kairo finally glanced at her, the low light from a single oil lamp cutting sharp lines across his face. "No. They're here to finish it tonight."
The way he said it—matter-of-fact, certain—should have scared her. Instead, it steadied her. He wasn't guessing. He knew.
From the back corridor came the muffled clink of glass—someone testing windows for weak points. Elira moved without waiting for his nod, pistol raised, shadowed by his heavier stride.
They found the intruder halfway through the dining room window, soaked to the skin, one boot on the sill. He didn't even get a full step in before Kairo caught him by the collar and dragged him inside like he weighed nothing.
The man swung wildly—elbow, knife, a curse in a language Elira didn't understand. Kairo pinned him against the wall, the knife clattering to the floor, and drove a fist into his gut so hard the man folded in on himself.
"Tell your friends the next one doesn't walk out," Kairo said coldly.
The man's response was to spit blood at the floor.
Kairo didn't hit him again—he didn't need to. He shoved him back out the window into the rain, letting the storm swallow him.
Elira closed the latch and turned to him. "You're letting him warn the others?"
"I'm letting him make them nervous."
They returned to the main hall, both aware of the silence outside now—too complete. The kind of quiet that comes when an enemy rethinks their next move.
"Upstairs," Kairo said suddenly.
She frowned. "Why?"
"Better lines of sight. And… if they breach, it's easier to bottleneck them."
It was logical, but as they moved up the winding staircase, Elira noticed the subtle way his hand brushed her back, not pushing, not guiding—just there. Solid.
They took the east wing master suite—a room with only one narrow entrance and windows high enough to make climbing in a dangerous gamble. He shut the door behind them, locked it, and crossed to the far wall where a hidden cabinet revealed a small arsenal: rifles, extra mags, a box of flashbangs.
"You keep this next to the bed?" she asked, eyebrows lifting.
He loaded a rifle without looking at her. "I don't believe in hoping for the best."
Lightning flashed, momentarily throwing their shadows huge against the walls. She caught his face in the light—focused, unreadable, but with that faint tension at the jaw she'd learned to notice.
He wasn't just defending territory.
He was defending her.
The storm was still hammering the world outside, but in the master suite it was the silence between the thunderclaps that pressed the hardest.
Kairo set the rifle down within arm's reach, checked the door again, then moved to the window to scan the grounds below. The rain made everything a blur—shapes moved in the distance, but whether they were men or the wind in the hedges, even he couldn't tell.
Elira took the far corner of the room, pistol loose in her hand but eyes sharp. She was learning. When they'd met, she would have been looking at the floor, afraid to breathe too loud. Now she mirrored his alertness, watching every shadow, reading every sound.
Another crack of lightning lit the glass. This time, he saw them—two figures in the treeline, low, hunched, moving like they belonged to the dark.
"They're circling," he murmured.
Her head turned toward him. "How many?"
"At least four in total. Maybe six. They'll wait for the wind to cover their approach."
She crossed to stand beside him, close enough for him to smell the faint trace of rain in her hair. "You've done this before."
His eyes didn't leave the trees. "Too many times."
There was no bravado in it. No posturing. Just a fact of the life he'd been born into, sharpened by years of surviving it.
Another sound cut through the storm—a metallic click from somewhere below.
Kairo didn't speak. He just moved. In three strides he was at the arsenal, handing her a spare mag. "Reload fast if you need it. Don't hesitate."
She nodded once, serious.
The door shuddered a second later. A solid thud—testing the lock. Then again, harder.
Kairo took position just off the frame, rifle up, finger resting on the trigger guard. The door wouldn't hold forever, but that was the point. He wanted them to try.
A muffled voice outside barked something in clipped Italian, followed by the sound of boots shifting against wood.
Elira's heart was thudding so hard she was sure they could hear it. She risked a glance at him—calm, unreadable, the only sign of tension the faint twitch of his jaw.
Then the first breach attempt came—loud, splintering. The door held, but only just.
"Three more hits," Kairo said quietly. "Then they're in."
She swallowed. "And then?"
"Then we stop them at the threshold."
The second hit came.
He shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing hers. "Stay behind me unless I tell you otherwise."
"I'm not hiding."
"I'm not asking you to hide." His eyes flicked to hers for half a second—dark, steady. "I'm asking you to make sure the last thing they see is one of us standing."
The third hit blew the lock. The door swung inward a fraction before Kairo slammed his shoulder into it, sending the first intruder sprawling back into the hallway. Gunfire erupted, deafening in the enclosed space.
Elira dropped to one knee, firing low, catching a shadow in the leg. A shout of pain, boots scrambling.
Kairo's rifle cracked twice, precise, and the hall went silent except for the ringing in her ears.
He didn't relax. He moved into the doorway, scanning, making sure no one else was about to rush them.
Elira's hands were shaking, adrenaline burning through her veins. When he turned back, his gaze swept over her quickly—checking for blood, for injury.
"I'm fine," she said before he could ask.
His jaw eased a fraction. "We need to move before they regroup."
"Where?"
He looked past her to the narrow servants' stair at the far end of the room. "Down to the cellar. There's a secondary exit they won't expect."
She hesitated. "And if they've blocked it?"
His mouth curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Then we make our own way out."
They moved quickly, silent except for the rain and the distant groan of the storm. The villa felt alive with shadows, every corner a possible ambush.
Halfway down the narrow stair, she caught his arm. "Kairo—"
He stopped, turning just enough for their faces to be a breath apart.
"I'm not leaving without you," she said.
His eyes softened—just for a heartbeat—before the steel slid back into place. "You won't have to."