The Billionaire Twins Need A New Mommy!-Chapter 757: Running on fumes

"Florida?"

Lola’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the person standing a few steps away from her with a weapon aimed at her. She watched Florida blink several times, as if coming out of a haze.

Then his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. Seeing his reaction, it was as though her heart stabilized again.

"Madam—it’s you!" Florida dropped his gun and hurried toward her, bobbing his head. "Why are you back here?"

Lola grabbed his shoulder and examined him. Instead of answering, her gaze fell to the blood and the wire wrapped around his leg.

"You’ve been shot," she said, her racing heart finally beginning to steady. "Are you alright?"

"I’m alright. I did this to myself." Florida cleared his throat, explaining that the smoke in other parts of the manor had been thicker.

It was a good thing he had been awake when he first noticed the smoke. At first, he thought something was burning and woke the people in his quarters. When they couldn’t wake the others, they knew something was wrong. The dizziness that followed confirmed it.

So even before the alarm blared, the members in their quarters were already alert. Everything had happened so fast, but Florida’s priority had been Lola and the twins—even though it technically wasn’t his responsibility. That job should have been Izu’s, if he were here.

That was why Florida and the small team he formed had come to secure the family wing. He couldn’t deny he was running on fumes. The only thing keeping him upright was adrenaline. After all, he had shot himself in the leg to stop himself from collapsing. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Suddenly, Lola snatched his weapon and shoved him aside, opening fire at the figure that emerged behind him.

Florida spun around, panting as he watched a man collapse to the floor. "I thought we cleared this area."

"You thought wrong. Have you seen Kiara?" Lola asked, turning back to him. "Henrik and his son—have you seen them?"

Florida shook his head. "When I didn’t see you and the twins, I assumed you’d already taken them. The felines’ absence was a sign."

If the enemies had captured Lola and the twins, Florida doubted the cats—especially the black panther—would be missing without a trace. Either it would’ve mauled their enemies, or it would’ve been shot. There were no signs of either.

In other words, he assumed Lola had taken the twins, Kiara, and the cats with her.

"As for Henrik’s son, he wasn’t in his room when we came there," Florida added. "But I sent men to get Henrik. They secured him and left with him."

"Shit," Lola muttered. "That leaves Kiara and the boy."

They exchanged tense looks. After a moment, Lola exhaled sharply.

"Take their weapons," she ordered, shoving his rifle back into his hands while picking up hers and reloading. She quickly looted the fallen enemies, just as Florida did.

When they were done, she glanced at his leg again, biting her lip. He looked pale. When he had raised his gun at her earlier, he hadn’t seemed fully aware, likely from blood loss.

If not for his instinct to confirm first, he might’ve shot her without hesitation.

"Florida," Lola said firmly. "In the twins’ room, there’s a lever behind the hanging clothes. Pull it down, and the shelf will open. There’s a passage inside. It’ll lead you straight out of the mansion."

Florida slowed and turned to face her. "Madam, I can’t—"

"Get out of here," she ordered coldly. "You’re bleeding, and you’re no good to me running on fumes. You almost killed me just now."

His breath hitched, reluctance flashing in his eyes. He tightened his grip on his rifle and stepped closer.

"I can still work. I won’t hold you back," he insisted. "I can’t leave while you’re still here. I’d rather die than leave you to handle this alone. My men are still inside as well."

His eyes burned, not from pain, but from conviction. Being told to retreat had stirred something in him more than the wound itself. There was a protocol for situations like this. It had happened before in the Order.

After all, enemies resorted to attacks like this because confronting them head-on would’ve been far more difficult.

Even so, Florida would not leave his people behind—not his team, not his colleagues, not his friends.

"Please," he breathed, gripping his rifle tighter. "Madam, don’t do this to me."

Lola swallowed. She understood him, but losing Florida here would be a waste.

As they held each other’s gaze, the alarm blared in the background until it suddenly stopped.

Both of them instinctively looked up the moment the sound cut off. They had grown used to the constant noise that the silence was jarring.

"That alarm shouldn’t have stopped," she blurted out, only to stop when a cough echoed through the same speakers that had carried the alarm.

"Ahem. Everyone... it’s me, Pika. If you don’t know me yet, I’m the one who set off the emergency alarm. Anyway, that’s enough introduction."

His heavy breathing was clearly audible through the speakers.

"If you can hear me, I’ll provide assistance. We’re assessing enemy numbers in every wing. Let’s... clear these people out."

Lola and Florida remained silent as Pika began announcing enemy locations with startling precision. Order members near those areas quickly eliminated the threats.

The enemies, realizing what was happening, shot at the speakers whenever they spotted them. But there were too many, installed in every corner of the mansion. It was futile. Before long, the attackers found themselves surrounded.

With Pika acting as their eyes and ears, the Order’s survival rate doubled. Ambushes were avoided, and movements were coordinated.

Meanwhile, Lola and Florida exchanged looks.

She nodded at him, and he exhaled heavily.

"Those in the family wing..." Pika’s voice came again, pausing as if confirming something. Compared to the rest of the manor, the family wing was nearly clear.

"Listen carefully," he continued. "The enemies are retreating from the family wing..."

Without waiting for further instructions, Lola and Florida moved, following Pika’s guidance and heading straight toward the retreating enemies.