Chapter 19 - The Final Siege
Black smoke poured into the grand entryway as the thunder of high-caliber rifle fire erupted outside.
Arthur Sterling had known the raid was coming. He hadn't fled the country. Cornered like a rabid animal, stripped of his fortune and facing a lifetime in supermax solitary confinement, the patriarch had chosen annihilation over surrender.
"Get the boy to the storm cellar!" Julian roared, drawing his weapon as the federal agents engaged the attackers at the front threshold.
"Julian, no! We stay together!" I shouted, scooping Leo into my arms.
"Clara, they have anti-material rifles! They aren't trying to capture him anymore—Arthur wants no survivors!" Julian yelled over the deafening cacophony of gunfire. "Go! Now!"
I didn't argue. Clutching Leo to my chest, I sprinted toward the rear of the house, heading for the reinforced storm shelter beneath the terrace. Leo was crying, his little hands clutching the collar of my sweater with terrifying strength.
"Close your eyes, Leo! Hold on to Mommy!" I screamed as another blast blew the patio doors apart behind us.
Wood splinters rained down as I kicked open the heavy iron door of the shelter and pulled Leo inside.
Suddenly, a heavy blow struck my shoulder from behind, knocking me to the concrete floor. Leo spilled from my grip, rolling across the stone floor with a cry of pain.
I scrambled up, turning to face our attacker.
Standing in the doorway, rain dripping from his trench coat, was Arthur Sterling himself.
His ebony cane was discarded; in his gloved hands was a snub-nosed revolver. His silver hair was wild, his eyes bloodshot with pure, venomous madness. Behind him, two of his surviving mercenaries guarded the corridor, holding off the agents in a vicious rearguard action.
"You took everything from me, you worthless little bitch," Arthur hissed, stepping into the shelter, raising the gun directly at my face.
"Don't you dare look at him!" I snarled, placing myself directly between the barrel of his gun and my son. "Kill me if you want, Arthur. But the FBI has the ledger. Your name is already synonymous with treason and murder. You have lost!"
"I may have lost my empire," Arthur sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "But you will not have your son. The Sterling bloodline ends tonight. With both of you."
Leo peeked out from behind my legs. He saw the gun pointed at my chest.
And in that moment, the boy who had spent months trembling in corners, the child who had crawled on bruised knees while monsters laughed, did something that defied all fear.
Leo picked up a heavy steel wrench lying near the workbench and threw it with all his four-year-old might straight at Arthur’s knee.
The wrench struck Arthur's arthritic joint with a dull clack.
The old man stumbled, his aim wavering for a fraction of a second.
That fraction of a second was all the lioness needed.
I lunged forward like an uncoiled viper, grabbing Arthur's gun hand and slamming his wrist against the iron door frame with bone-crushing fury. The revolver discharged, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the reinforced ceiling, before falling from his fingers and clattering into the dark drainage grate.
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Arthur howled in pain, but with the desperate strength of an old devil, he shoved me back and drew a long hunting knife from his belt, slashing wildly toward my throat.
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