Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT ATTACK
The apartment filled with smoke.
Not fire.
A canister rolled across the floor.
Ronan kicked it behind the refrigerator.
“Bathroom,” he told Ivy.
“No.”
“Ivy.”
“Emily is out there.”
Marcus’s voice came from the hall.
“She’s safe!”
Gunfire cracked.
Ivy flinched.
Ronan did not.
He moved through the darkness with terrifying calm, one hand gripping his weapon, the other guiding Ivy behind him.
She hated needing protection.
She hated even more that, right now, she needed his.
The attacker rushed through the doorway.
Ronan hit him hard enough to send him into the wall.
The gun skidded away.
Ivy grabbed a lamp and smashed it over the man’s shoulder.
Ronan looked at her.
“What?”
She raised the broken lamp base.
“He came into my apartment.”
“Remind me never to break into your apartment.”
A second man appeared.
Marcus tackled him from the hallway.
Thirty seconds later, both attackers were on the floor.
One was unconscious.
The other laughed through a split lip.
Ronan crouched beside him.
“Who sent you?”
The man smiled.
“You know.”
“Say the name.”
“You think this is about the girl?”
Ronan grabbed his collar.
“Say the name.”
The attacker looked at Ivy.
“She’s not the target.”
Ivy felt cold.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“Then who is?”
The man grinned.
“You.”
A shot exploded from the street below.
The attacker’s head snapped back.
Ivy screamed.
Ronan pulled her down.
Marcus ran to the window.
“Sniper!”
The surviving attacker was dead.
Someone had silenced him before he could talk.
Within minutes, Blackwood security flooded the building.
Emily was brought inside, shaking but unharmed.
She ran straight into Ivy’s arms.
Ivy held her.
Ronan watched quietly.
Then Marcus approached.
“We need to move.”
“To where?” Ivy asked.
“Blackwood House.”
“No.”
Ronan stared at her.
“Someone just shot through your window.”
“And your house contains Vivienne.”
“She won’t be there.”
Ivy blinked.
“What did you do?”
“I ended the engagement.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open.
Ivy stared at him.
“When?”
“Ten minutes before your apartment was attacked.”
“And she just left?”
Ronan’s expression hardened.
“Not exactly.”
Vivienne had screamed.
Thrown a champagne glass.
Threatened lawsuits.
Threatened politicians.
Threatened to ruin Ivy.
Then she had said one thing that bothered Ronan more than all the rest.
You have no idea what you’re throwing away.
Now, standing in Ivy’s wrecked kitchen, Ronan suddenly understood.
“She knew.”
Ivy looked at him.
“Knew what?”
“That tonight wasn’t about humiliation.”
Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered and went silent.
“What?” Ronan asked.
Marcus lowered the phone.
“Vivienne’s gone.”
“You had four men watching her.”
“They’re alive.”
“How did she get out?”
“She didn’t.”
Marcus looked at Ivy.
“Someone came in.”
Ronan’s expression went cold.
“Who?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Your uncle.”
Ronan did not move.
Ivy remembered a name from her father’s letter.
May you like
Victor Blackwood.
And suddenly the old photograph made much more sense.
