A red light flashed on the security monitor.

The camera feed showed the outer iron gates of the estate.

A black town car had just rammed through the barrier, its headlights high and bright.

Behind it, two more vehicles sped onto the gravel driveway.

The phone on the desk began to ring.

Damiano grabbed the receiver.

“Report,” he said.

His knuckles turned white against the black plastic.

“They’re at the north gate,” Damiano said, putting the phone down. “Marco, get her to the safe room downstairs.”

“No,” I said.

I stepped between Damiano and the desk, blocking his path.

“If I go down there, Marcus wins,” I said. “He is paying these men by the hour from his offshore escrow. Let me kill his funding.”

Damiano stared at me, his grey eyes calculating the risk.

A distant pop of gunfire echoed through the heavy glass windows.

“Do it fast,” Damiano said.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black pistol, checking the slide.

He walked toward the double doors of the office, calling out to his guards in the hallway.