Episode Three
782 Words
The Devil Arrives
The alarms screamed through the mansion.
Red lights flashed across the walls.
Amara's heart pounded so violently she could barely breathe.
Lucien's voice echoed from the intercom once more.
"Open the door. Now."
Her father didn't move.
He looked frozen.
Terrified.
For the first time in her life, Amara realized that her father—the man who had always seemed untouchable—was completely out of his depth.
Another loud bang shook the front gate.
Metal groaned.
Someone was trying to force their way in.
"Oh my God..." she whispered.
The security monitor mounted beside the study door flickered to life.
Several black SUVs had surrounded the property.
Armed men poured out.
Their faces were hidden beneath dark masks.
Her stomach dropped.
"Are those Moretti men?"
"No."
Her father sounded horrified.
"Those are Volkov soldiers."
The blood drained from her face.
The Volkovs.
The same people who supposedly wanted her.
A gunshot suddenly shattered the night.
Then another.
And another.
Amara flinched.
Outside, chaos erupted.
The security cameras shook violently as bullets struck nearby walls.
One screen went black.
Then another.
And another.
The Volkov soldiers were taking out the cameras.
They were coming.
Fast.
"We have to leave," Amara said.
Her father laughed bitterly.
"There's nowhere to go."
The front gate exploded.
The sound was deafening.
Amara screamed.
The camera feed filled with smoke and flying debris.
When the image cleared, black-clad figures were flooding onto the estate grounds.
The mansion's outer defenses had fallen.
Her father staggered backward and grabbed the edge of the desk.
"It's over."
"No."
Amara grabbed his arm.
"We can still—"
The front doors burst open downstairs.
Heavy footsteps thundered through the mansion.
Voices shouted.
Men yelled orders.
The intruders had entered the house.
Panic surged through her veins.
Then—
Gunfire erupted.
Not from the attackers.
From inside the mansion.
The sound was precise.
Controlled.
Professional.
One shot.
Then another.
Then silence.
A long, terrifying silence.
Amara held her breath.
The footsteps stopped.
Everything stopped.
Then a familiar voice echoed through the hallway.
"Secure the east wing."
Lucien.
Another voice responded.
"Clear."
"The second floor?"
"Clear."
Amara exchanged a confused glance with her father.
The study door suddenly opened.
A tall man stepped inside.
He wore a black suit despite the rain.
Not a single wrinkle.
Not a single sign of panic.
Lucien Moretti looked as though he had simply arrived for a business meeting.
Except for the pistol in his hand.
His dark eyes swept across the room.
First her father.
Then Amara.
The intensity of his gaze made her pulse skip.
"You're late," her father said.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"You're alive."
"That's not an answer."
"No," Lucien replied coldly. "It's a miracle."
Before her father could respond, another man entered the study.
This one looked younger.
Blond hair.
Sharp blue eyes.
Blood stained his sleeve.
"Perimeter secured," he announced.
Amara stared.
Blood.
Actual blood.
Her stomach twisted.
The blond man noticed her expression and smiled.
"Not ours."
That wasn't reassuring.
Not even a little.
Lucien ignored him.
His attention remained fixed on Amara.
"Pack a bag."
The command caught her off guard.
"What?"
"You heard me."
She folded her arms.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
The blond man muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Here we go."
Lucien took a step closer.
"Tonight isn't the night to test my patience."
"I'm not afraid of you."
His eyes darkened.
"No?"
"No."
The lie came out far more confidently than she felt.
Because she was afraid.
Terrified, actually.
But she refused to let him see it.
Lucien studied her for several moments.
Then, unexpectedly, he nodded.
"Good."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I don't like cowards."
Before she could respond, another Moretti soldier rushed into the room.
"Boss."
Lucien turned.
The soldier's face was grim.
"We intercepted a transmission."
The room instantly grew tense.
"What transmission?"
The soldier swallowed.
"The Volkovs have issued a direct order."
A knot formed in Amara's stomach.
Lucien's expression remained unreadable.
"What order?"
The soldier glanced at her.
Then at Lucien.
"They want the girl alive."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous silence.
Amara's skin prickled.
Alive.
Not dead.
Alive.
Which somehow felt much worse.
Lucien's face became colder than she'd ever seen.
"Who gave the order?"
"Nikolai Volkov."
The name seemed to affect everyone in the room.
Even her father looked sick.
Lucien slowly holstered his weapon.
Then he looked directly at Amara.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Nikolai Volkov doesn't ask for things."
A chill raced down her spine.
"What does that mean?"
Lucien's gaze never left hers.
"It means he's coming himself."
And for the first time that night...
The Devil's Shadow looked genuinely concerned.
- Writer
