Chapter 119

The hallway was chaos. Boots thundered across the marble floors, shouts cracked like whips in every direction, and the shriek of gunfire echoed off the walls like a war drum.

Marco bolted upright as his instinct gripped him like a vice. He didn’t bother with a shirt. He just reached under the bed, yanked out the black bulletproof vest, and threw it over his bare torso. The handgun came next, loaded and cold in his hand, with the safety flicked off as he charged out the door. His bare feet pounded against the cold floor as he made his way through the corridors.

As soon as he reached downstairs, the gunfire had shifted closer.

He turned a sharp corner, nearly colliding with a panicked servant, and shoved past without a word. His goal was clear—Bartholomew’s quarters. If the house was under attack, he had one duty and that is to protect the man who raised him.

He reached the double oak doors of Bartholomew’s room, already partially open. The older man was awake,