Three men in dark tactical gear surged through the opening, snow clinging to their shoulders and masks.

The lead man fired immediately, sending plaster spraying from the ceiling in a white cloud.

“Vargas’s men,” Luca muttered beside me, his grip tightening on my arm until it bruised.

Marcus returned fire, his posture rigid as he took cover behind the stone archway leading to the dining room.

The sharp smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the freezing draft from the open doorway.

“Marcus!” I screamed, but Luca was already pulling me back toward the service stairs.

“He’s dead if we stay, and so are you,” Luca hissed, dragging me into the shadow of the pantry hallway.

Behind us, the security detail from the back hallway joined the gunfight with a volley of rapid cracks.

The noise was a solid wall of sound, shattering the crystal chandelier above the main staircase.

Glass rained down on the polished wood floor like frozen sleet.

I stumbled, my boots slipping on the slick floor, my hand instinctively coming to rest on my stomach.