The attack came at 4:13 a.m.—no warning, no mercy, just the sudden roar of engines and the crack of automatic fire tearing through the pre-dawn quiet of the estate.
Angel woke to glass shattering and Dante’s body covering hers before her eyes were even open.
“Stay down,” he barked—voice already hoarse from shouting orders into the comms piece in his ear.
Bullets stitched across the bedroom wall above the headboard, showering them in plaster dust.
She tasted blood—his, from a shallow graze on his temple where a shard had caught him.
He didn’t even flinch.
Outside, the night had turned into war.
Romeo’s voice crackled through the comms: “South gate down—three SUVs, full tactical. They brought f*****g RPGs.”
Jax: “East perimeter breached. I’ve got two on the roof—sniper fire incoming.
