Chapter 11 - Glass and Gunpowder
The shockwave blew the velvet drapes straight into ribbons. A jagged hail of tempered glass exploded across the penthouse suite, glittering like diamond shrapnel under the blood-red pulse of the emergency strobe lights.
Before I could even scream, Dominic’s massive arm hooked around my waist. He drove his weight forward, slamming us both behind the monolithic mahogany desk just as deafening bursts of automatic gunfire shredded the plaster walls.
Chunks of drywall rained down on my back. The air instantly filled with the sharp, acrid stench of cordite, pulverized lime, and burning electrical wiring.
"Stay down!" Dominic roared against my ear. His voice wasn't panicked; it was the terrifyingly calm command of a general who had survived a hundred ambushes.
Beside us, curled into a pathetic ball beneath an overturned leather armchair, Richard was whimpering like a scalded dog. "They’re going to kill me! Salvatore promised I’d be extracted if Dominic came! He promised!"
"Salvatore doesn't leave loose ends, you miserable coward," Dominic snarled. He reached beneath his custom charcoal jacket, drawing a suppressed Heckler & Koch pistol from his shoulder holster and racking the slide with a fluid, terrifying precision.
The glass crunched under heavy combat boots. Three black-clad figures in full tactical armor, night-vision visors glowing an eerie luminescent green, dropped through the shattered terrace frame. Their weapons were fitted with heavy barrel compensators, spitting controlled two-round bursts into every corner of the room.
My heart hammered against my ribs until it felt like bruised bone. My mother’s face flashed behind my eyes—her hollow cheeks, the bruising around her iv sites, the slow, agonizing theft of her breath. *She was murdered. They tested Dominic's poison on her.*
A wave of icy adrenaline burned away my terror, replaced by a reckless, white-hot fury.
"Two at the window," Dominic whispered, his breath warm against my trembling cheek, his gaze locked onto the reflective surface of a brass floor lamp. "One sweeping left toward the kitchen island. Marco is pinned at the elevator, which means the stairwell is our only egress. Chloe, look at me."
I turned my head. In the dim crimson strobes, Dominic Romano looked like an avenging demon carved from granite. His dark eyes bore directly into mine, stripping away every ounce of hesitation.
"You trust me?" he asked quietly, the gunfire overhead chewing through the mahogany desk, splintering the heavy wood just inches above our scalps.
"I trust you," I choked out, my fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve.
"When I move, you crawl to that brass door behind the bookshelf. Do not look back. Do not stop. Understand?"
I nodded once, my jaw clamped shut.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He kicked a heavy silver ice bucket out from behind the desk. The metallic clatter drew an instantaneous volley of rifle rounds. In that split-second divergence of fire, Dominic surged upward like a coiled predator.
*Crack. Crack.*
Two sharp, suppressed pops. The point man at the window jerked backward, his rifle discharging harmlessly into the ceiling as he crashed through the remaining glass shards and plummeted four stories into the courtyard below.
"Move!" Dominic yelled.
I scrambled on hands and knees across the shredded carpet, ignoring the bite of glass slicing through the denim of my jeans. Above me, the second tactical operator pivoted, bringing his submachine gun to bear directly on my skull.
"Chloe!" Richard shrieked, but instead of helping, the cowardly manager lunged forward, trying to use my crawling body as a human shield to scramble toward the fire exit.
The mercenary fired.
A sharp, wet thud echoed through the room. Richard didn't even have time to cry out; the high-caliber round caught him dead center in the chest, folding him backward over the ruined sofa. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, dead before he touched the floor.
Before the mercenary could adjust his aim back down to me, Dominic closed the distance with terrifying speed. He seized the barrel of the rifle, forcing it upward as it emptied into the plaster ceiling, and drove his combat blade directly beneath the soldier's armored jawline. The man stiffened, gagged, and collapsed in a heap of nylon and Kevlar.
The third operator emerged from the kitchen corridor, shotgun raised. Dominic had no time to bring his weapon around.
Instinct took over my limbs. Lying beside the mahogany desk was a heavy brass floor lamp that had been knocked over in the initial blast. I grabbed the solid metal shaft with both hands and swung it with every ounce of rage and grief burning inside my chest.
*Clang!*
The heavy base struck the shooter squarely across his tactical helmet. It didn't crack the composite shell, but the kinetic force twisted his neck and knocked him off-balance. His shotgun blast tore a gaping hole in the ceiling.
That fraction of a second was all Dominic needed. He spun, his sidearm barking once. The man dropped instantly.
Silence slammed back down onto the suite, heavy, suffocating, and reeking of death.
Dominic stood tall amid the smoke and shattered glass, his chest heaving slightly, blood dripping from a shallow cut along his temple. He lowered his weapon and looked down at me, still clutching the brass lamp like a battle-axe.
A slow, dark admiration flickered across his lethal features.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Miss Henderson," he murmured, extending a hand wrapped in bloodstained leather.
I let go of the lamp, my fingers trembling violently now that the adrenaline was draining, and took his hand. He pulled me to my feet in a single effortless motion, drawing me so close against his broad chest that I could feel the thunderous, steady beat of his heart.
Before I could speak, Marco burst through the blown-out double doors of the hallway, assault rifle raised, his tactical vest smeared with fresh soot. Two of Dominic’s loyal soldiers flanked him, sweeping the perimeter with lethal efficiency.
"Boss!" Marco gasped, his eyes darting across the carnage. "We took out the elevator crew, but Salvatore’s secondary perimeter is closing on the block. Boston PD dispatch just received five bogus calls reporting an active shooter here—Salvatore bought the local precinct captain. The tactical sirens are three minutes out. We have to vanish right now."
Dominic didn't blink. He kept his arm securely around my shoulders, shielding me from the sight of Richard’s lifeless, staring eyes.
"The docks?" Dominic asked, his voice low, gravelly, and deadly.
"The compound at Pier 42 is locked down and fortified," Marco replied, tossing Dominic a fresh magazine. "Dr. Chen is already on site. He has the portable lab equipment ready."
Dominic looked down at me, his thumb gently wiping a smear of soot and glass dust from my cheek. "We're going to finish this, Chloe. Salvatore killed your mother. He tried to murder me. Tonight, we take everything he owns."
May you like
We bolted down the concrete fire stairs, our footsteps echoing like thunder in the hollow shaft. Behind us, the wailing sirens of corrupted police cruisers began to paint the night in flashes of flashing blue and red.
***
