The hacienda, which moments ago had been a sanctuary of crackling fire and hushed confessions, transformed into a tactical kill zone in a heartbeat. The heavy oak doors were bolted, and the warm amber light of the hearth now felt like a spotlight for a sniper’s scope. Roman didn't look at the window; his eyes were locked on mine, a dark, calculating intensity that made my skin prickle.
"The cellar, Brielle. Now," he commanded again, his voice a low vibration that brooked no argument.
"I'm not hiding in a hole while you play God with my life, Roman," I snapped, my adrenaline finally overriding the thin-air lightheadedness. "This is my home. I know these ridges. If Marcello’s men are coming up the private road, they’re bottlenecking themselves. There’s a goat path behind the stables that l
