Fire in the west wing
2897 Words
Chapter Six
Fire in the West Wing
Elara ran.
The corridor blurred around her—gold-framed paintings, shadowed lamps, startled servants pressing themselves against walls. Smoke drifted upward from the lower floors, sharp and bitter. Somewhere below, another gunshot cracked through the mansion, followed by shouting.
Her bare feet slipped on polished marble.
She caught herself against the wall and clutched the key Lucien had pressed into her palm so tightly its edges bit into her skin.
My rooms. West wing. Lock yourself inside.
Every instinct told her to obey.
Every other instinct screamed to turn back.
Lucien had disappeared toward danger without hesitation, coat flaring behind him, pistol in hand. The image burned in her mind so vividly it felt carved there.
She forced herself forward.
The west wing hallway was darker than the rest of the house, lit only by low sconces and occasional flashes of lightning through tall windows. Doors lined the corridor like sealed secrets.
At the end stood a pair of carved black doors.
His room.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the key twice before fitting it into the lock.
The door swung inward.
Elara slipped inside and shut it fast, twisting the lock just as another burst of gunfire echoed through the mansion.
Silence followed.
Not real silence.
The kind full of waiting.
⸻
Lucien’s private rooms were larger than her entire childhood home.
A bedroom opened into a sitting area with dark velvet furniture, bookshelves, a stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the storm-lashed grounds. A second door likely led to the dressing room. Another to the bath.
Everything was elegant. Controlled. Masculine.
Nothing personal at first glance.
No photographs. No keepsakes.
Only order.
Elara backed away from the door, chest heaving.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps outside.
Slow.
Measured.
Stopping directly beyond the door.
Her blood went cold.
The handle turned once.
Locked.
A pause.
Then a male voice, unfamiliar and amused:
“Open the door.”
She stumbled backward.
The voice came again.
“I know he put you in there.”
Another pause.
Then softer:
“Do you know what happens to things Lucien hides?”
Elara’s gaze darted wildly around the room.
No weapon.
No phone.
No escape except windows three stories above stone terraces.
The handle rattled harder.
“Open it.”
She backed into a side table, knocking over a crystal decanter. It shattered across the floor.
The footsteps outside stopped.
Then moved away.
Her knees nearly gave out.
She stayed frozen for several seconds, barely breathing.
Then she forced herself to move.
If someone had reached this wing, nowhere was safe.
⸻
Downstairs, Lucien walked through smoke and broken glass like judgment itself.
Two men lay unconscious near the grand staircase. Another groaned, clutching his leg where Matteo had shot him.
The mansion’s once-perfect foyer looked like a war scene.
Marble chipped by bullets.
A chandelier hanging crooked.
Blood streaked across polished floors.
Lucien barely noticed.
“Three at the east entrance,” Matteo reported, reloading. “Two neutralized. One escaped.”
“Find him.”
Matteo hesitated. “Boss… there’s more.”
Lucien turned.
“The camera room was hit first. They knew the blind spots.”
Betrayal.
Again.
Lucien’s jaw hardened.
“Who’s missing?”
“Dario.”
Of course.
Dario had served six years in outer operations. Reliable. Quiet. Invisible in the way traitors often were.
Lucien’s voice dropped dangerously calm.
“Alive?”
“For now.”
“Keep him that way.”
Matteo nodded once.
Then Lucien was already moving.
“Where are you going?”
Lucien didn’t slow.
“To the west wing.”
Because if anyone had gotten close to those stairs—
No.
He would burn every name involved.
⸻
Elara found the hidden panic room by accident.
She had opened the dressing room searching for anything useful and noticed a narrow seam in the wall behind hanging suits. Pressing against it caused part of the panel to click inward.
A concealed door.
Inside was a small secure chamber lined with screens, emergency supplies, a desk, and reinforced steel walls.
Lucien had built a fortress inside his fortress.
She slipped in and shut the hidden panel behind her.
The room hummed softly with backup power. Several security monitors flickered with static, but two still worked.
One showed the front gate.
Another showed the west wing corridor outside his room.
Empty.
Elara sagged with relief.
Then the gate monitor changed.
A black SUV rammed through twisted iron.
More armed men poured in.
Her stomach dropped.
This wasn’t a break-in.
It was an assault.
⸻
Lucien reached his rooms and found the outer door scratched near the lock.
Someone had tried it.
The air around him went glacial.
He entered fast, sweeping the room with pistol raised.
Empty.
Broken decanter on the floor.
No Elara.
Something primal rose in him so violently he nearly fired into the wall.
Then he saw it.
A wardrobe panel slightly ajar.
He crossed the room in three strides and pushed through.
The hidden chamber door opened.
Elara spun from the monitors with a gasp.
Lucien stepped inside and shut the panel behind him.
For one second they only stared at each other.
Then she flew into him.
He caught her instinctively as she collided against his chest.
“You came back,” she breathed.
The words hit deeper than they should have.
His arms locked around her before he could stop them.
“Of course I came back.”
She clung harder.
“I thought—”
“I know.”
He cupped the back of her head, forcing himself to loosen his grip before he forgot how.
“Did anyone touch you?”
“No.”
“Did you see a man outside the door?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
She did quickly—tall, beard, scar near eyebrow.
Lucien’s eyes went cold.
“Rami.”
“You know him?”
“I used to.”
That answer carried too much history.
Elara pulled back enough to study him.
Blood marked the side of his collar. His knuckles were split wider. Smoke clung to him.
“You’re hurt.”
“Later.”
“No, now.”
Lucien almost smiled despite himself.
The house was under attack, men were hunting them, and she still sounded offended by his injuries.
“You are impossible.”
“And you’re bleeding on your expensive shirt.”
A short breath escaped him that might have been laughter.
Then the monitor screen flashed again.
More movement in the corridor.
Lucien’s expression sharpened instantly.
“They’re searching room to room.”
Elara’s face paled. “Can they get in here?”
“Not quickly.”
“Quickly?”
He checked the pistol magazine.
“This room buys time. Not immortality.”
⸻
“Tell me what’s happening,” she whispered.
Lucien glanced at her.
The fear in her eyes was real, but so was the steadiness beneath it.
He decided, for once, not to lie.
“Years ago, I took power from a man named Viktor Soren.”
“By killing him?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed but nodded for him to continue.
“His son was sent away before the takeover. Too young to matter then.”
“Rami?”
“No. Rami was one of mine. Viktor’s son is Adrian.”
The name carried dislike like poison.
“He spent years building allies. Tonight he came home.”
Elara looked at the monitors again. “Because of your empire?”
“Because of revenge.”
A beat passed.
“Because of me.”
She met his gaze.
“And me?”
Lucien’s jaw flexed.
“You are leverage.”
The bluntness hurt more than it should have.
He saw it instantly.
“Not to me,” he said, voice lower. “To them.”
Another burst of gunfire sounded somewhere outside the chamber walls.
Closer this time.
Elara jumped.
Lucien moved without thinking, stepping in front of her.
Her eyes lifted to his back.
Something about that nearly undid him.
⸻
Matteo’s voice crackled through a hidden speaker.
“Boss?”
Lucien pressed a wall panel.
“Report.”
“We’ve contained first floor. East side compromised. Dario confessed before passing out.”
“Useful?”
“He gave a name.”
Lucien already knew.
“Adrian Soren.”
A pause.
“You know him?”
“I know his father.”
Matteo exhaled. “There’s more. They’re asking specifically for the girl.”
Elara went very still.
Lucien’s face became unreadable.
“How many left?”
“Eight, maybe ten inside. More outside perimeter.”
“Hold the staircase. No one reaches west wing.”
“You got it.”
The line cut.
Elara stared at him.
“They came for me.”
“They came for me,” Lucien corrected. “You are the easiest route.”
“That doesn’t feel better.”
“It isn’t meant to.”
⸻
Minutes passed like hours.
Bootsteps sounded beyond the hidden wall.
Voices.
Furniture overturned.
One man cursed.
Then a heavy crash.
They were tearing the suite apart.
Elara’s breathing quickened.
Lucien touched her chin lightly.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Breathe slower.”
“You say that as if people do it by command.”
“They do when I ask properly.”
“This is properly?”
His thumb brushed once along her jaw.
“For you, yes.”
She hated how much that steadied her.
A thud slammed against the hidden panel.
Both froze.
Another hit.
Then another.
“They found it,” she whispered.
Lucien stepped back, raising the pistol.
“Behind the desk.”
She obeyed instantly.
The panel groaned under a strike.
Again.
Wood splintered.
Again.
Steel hinges screamed.
Elara crouched low, heart hammering.
Lucien stood in front of her like a wall.
The panel burst inward.
A man lunged through with a shotgun.
Lucien fired twice.
The man collapsed backward before hitting the floor.
Another rushed behind him.
Lucien shot once more.
The chamber rang with deafening noise.
Smoke filled the air.
Then silence.
Elara stared at the bodies beyond the ruined opening, shaking.
Lucien turned.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Good.”
As if on cue, a bullet tore through the outer wall from the bedroom.
Plaster exploded.
Lucien grabbed her wrist.
“Move.”
⸻
They ran through the dressing room into the suite.
The bedroom was chaos—mattress ripped, drawers overturned, glass everywhere.
More shots from the corridor.
Lucien dragged her low behind a pillar.
“There’s another exit,” he said.
“Where?”
“Balcony stairs to service terrace.”
“That sounds exposed.”
“It is.”
“Your plans are terrible.”
He almost smiled again.
Then footsteps thundered closer.
Lucien looked at her sharply.
“When I say run, do not look back.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
His voice cut hard. “Do not romanticize this moment.”
She flinched.
He softened instantly, hating himself for it.
“Elara.”
“What?”
“If they take you, they will use you until I kneel.”
Her throat tightened.
“And if I run?”
“I kill everyone between us and daylight.”
The corridor door burst open.
Lucien fired.
“Run!”
He shoved her toward the balcony.
She sprinted through rain and shattered glass.
⸻
The terrace stairs spiraled down the outer wall into darkness.
Wind whipped her hair across her face. Rain made the metal slick.
Behind her, gunshots exploded from the room.
She nearly turned.
Do not look back.
She kept going.
Halfway down, a hand seized her ankle.
She screamed.
A man hauled himself up from below, grinning through bloodied teeth.
“Found you.”
Rami.
He yanked hard.
Elara slipped, crashing onto the steps.
Pain shot through her shoulder.
He climbed toward her.
“Lucien always did hide pretty things.”
She kicked wildly, heel catching his mouth.
He cursed.
She scrambled upward—
Then a shot cracked above.
Rami jerked backward.
Another shot.
He tumbled down the staircase into darkness below.
Lucien descended through the rain, pistol smoking.
Blood ran from a cut above his brow.
He reached her in seconds.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes.”
“Lie.”
“My shoulder.”
He slid one arm behind her knees and lifted her.
“What are you doing?”
“Adapting.”
“You can’t carry me while shooting.”
“Watch me.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped her—half hysteria, half disbelief.
He carried her down the remaining stairs.
⸻
The garden below was lit by lightning and muzzle flashes.
Guards exchanged fire near hedges and stone statues. A car burned by the fountain.
Matteo sprinted toward them.
“Boss! Rear gate clear for sixty seconds, maybe less.”
Lucien set Elara down behind a stone planter.
“Take her.”
Matteo blinked. “You sure?”
“No, Matteo. I’m speaking for exercise.”
Matteo hauled Elara up.
She grabbed Lucien’s sleeve.
“Come with us.”
“I will.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead quickly.
“It’s the only one you get.”
Then he turned and strode back into gunfire.
⸻
They reached a hidden garage beneath the east wing.
Two armored SUVs waited.
Mrs. Voss stood there with three servants, astonishingly composed.
“You’re limping,” she told Elara.
“I fell.”
“How inconvenient.”
Matteo shoved keys at a driver.
“Take them to the safe house.”
Elara shook her head immediately.
“No.”
Mrs. Voss stared. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not leaving without him.”
Matteo rubbed his face. “You two are exhausting.”
Gunfire thundered overhead.
The garage lights flickered.
Elara stepped toward the entrance.
Matteo blocked her.
“He’ll kill me if you go up there.”
“He’ll kill you if he comes back and I’m gone.”
Matteo considered this.
“…annoyingly true.”
Mrs. Voss sighed. “I liked life before romance.”
Another explosion shook dust from the ceiling.
Matteo swore.
“Fine. Five minutes. Then I drag you unconscious if needed.”
⸻
Lucien found Adrian Soren in the ballroom.
Of course he had chosen the grandest room.
The chandeliers were shattered now, crystals glittering across the floor like ice. Smoke drifted beneath painted ceilings.
Adrian stood near the piano, elegant in a dark coat, flanked by two armed men.
He looked about Lucien’s age, blond where Lucien was dark, smiling where Lucien was stone.
“Lucien,” Adrian said warmly. “You redecorated.”
Lucien fired without answering.
One bodyguard dropped.
The second dove behind a pillar.
Adrian barely flinched.
“You always were rude.”
“You should have stayed buried.”
Adrian sighed. “And miss seeing you sentimental?”
His gaze flicked to blood on Lucien’s sleeve not his own.
“The maid is lovely, by the way.”
Lucien moved so fast Adrian’s smile finally faltered.
They collided, crashing into the piano. Keys shrieked.
Lucien struck him once, twice, three times.
Adrian slashed with a hidden knife.
Blade cut Lucien’s side.
Pain flared hot.
Lucien ignored it and drove Adrian through the broken piano lid.
The remaining guard fired.
A shot answered from the doorway.
Matteo.
The guard fell.
“Thought you’d want company,” Matteo said.
Lucien never looked away from Adrian.
Adrian coughed blood and laughed weakly.
“She made you soft.”
Lucien’s voice was ice.
“No. She reminded me why monsters exist.”
He struck Adrian unconscious.
⸻
Dawn bled pale over the estate by the time it ended.
Police sirens wailed in the far distance—too late, as usual.
Bodies were gone or being removed. Fires were contained. Windows shattered. Walls scarred.
Moretti House looked wounded.
Elara stood in the foyer wrapped in a blanket, shoulder bandaged by Mrs. Voss, refusing rest.
Then the front doors opened.
Lucien entered.
Alive.
Bloodied. Wet. Walking.
She crossed the ruined marble floor before anyone could speak.
He caught her as she threw herself into him.
Pain flashed across his face from hidden injuries, but his arms closed around her anyway.
“You disobeyed me,” he murmured into her hair.
“You survived me.”
He pulled back enough to look at her.
There was exhaustion there now. And something rawer.
“This ends,” he said quietly.
“What does?”
“This life.”
She searched his face.
“You mean them?”
“I mean all of it.”
The empire. The violence. The endless war.
He touched her cheek with rough fingers.
“They came because of my name.”
“And?”
“I would burn the name before I bury you under it.”
Tears stung her eyes unexpectedly.
Lucien glanced at the watching staff, then back to her.
“Come upstairs.”
Mrs. Voss made a scandalized sound.
Matteo grinned openly.
Elara managed a shaky smile.
“To rest?”
Lucien’s mouth curved faintly.
“To negotiate.”
She let him lead her through the wreckage of his kingdom.
For the first time, he did not walk ahead.
He walked beside her.
- Writer
