Chapter 13 - An Offer Written in Ashes
"How many?" Dante’s voice was lethal, devoid of panic, vibrating with absolute authority.
"Dozens," Marco yelled over the growing roar of gunfire echoing from the estate's upper grounds. "Armored SUVs rammed through the northern security checkpoint. They have thermal scopes, heavy caliber rifles, and flash grenades. This isn't a raid, Boss. It’s an eradication squad."
Dante moved instantly to the wall armory, punching a code into the digital keypad. The steel rack popped open, revealing an array of assault weaponry. He handed Clara a customized submachine gun with an integrated suppressor, checking the chamber with a flick of his wrist.
"Dante, if they breach this room, they get the crystal," Clara said, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs, but her hands steady on the weapon's polymer grip.
"They won't get within ten feet of you," Dante promised, his gaze locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "Marco, activate the tunnel protocol. Get Clara through the subterranean passage to the helipad in the eastern woods."
"No!" Clara grabbed Dante’s tactical vest, refusing to let go. "I am not running while you fight my mother’s war! You said it yourself on the ship—we are one. If you burn, I burn with you!"
"Listen to me, Birdie," Dante growled, cupping the back of her head and pulling her forehead against his. "This isn't about pride. Moretti wants the crystal intact. If he knows you're in the estate, he’ll level the entire foundation with thermite charges. You are the leverage. If you make it to the air, I can turn this entire estate into their graveyard without worrying about you catching a stray round."
A violent explosion rocked the ceiling above them. Chunks of plaster and dust rained down, and the lights flickered violently before switching to dim emergency amber.
"Go with Marco!" Dante commanded, thrusting her toward the hidden doorway behind the bookshelf. "I’ll buy the time. Meet me at the safehouse in Montauk!"
Before Clara could protest again, Marco took her firmly by the elbow. "Clara, please. The Boss can survive anything except watching you die. Let’s move!"
Tears of rage and fear stung her eyes, but Clara nodded, clutching the micro-crystal tightly in her fist. She followed Marco into the damp, dark concrete tunnel just as the steel doors of the underground operations room were blasted off their hinges behind them.
Gunfire exploded in the chamber—Dante’s roar of defiance echoing above the carnage like that of an enraged demon guarding the gates of hell.
Clara ran through the tunnel, the stone walls vibrating from the sheer violence occurring just fifty yards behind them. Ahead, the chill of the midnight air rushed into the passageway as Marco kicked open the camouflaged grate leading out into the dense pine forest.
In the clearing ahead, a matte-black chopper’s rotors were already beginning to spin, cutting the night fog into swirling ribbons.
"Get in!" Marco yelled, scanning the tree line with his weapon raised.
Clara vaulted into the helicopter’s cabin. But as Marco went to pull himself up onto the skid, a high-velocity sniper round cracked through the darkness. Marco took the hit directly in his upper chest, collapsing backward onto the damp pine needles with a choked gasp.
"Marco!" Clara screamed, lunging forward to grab his gear, trying desperately to haul his heavy frame into the aircraft.
"Leave me... Clara, pull up!" Marco choked out, blood spilling over his lips as he weakly tried to push her back.
Through the mist, three figures stepped out from the trees, their weapons trained directly on the open helicopter door. Standing in the center was an older man with slicked-back silver hair, leaning on a cane with an ornate gold phoenix head. His face was weathered, carved with deep scars, but his eyes carried an aristocratic malice that made the blood freeze in Clara's veins.
"Elena's daughter," the man purred, his Italian accent dripping like venomous honey. "Such exquisite hair. Just like your mother before I cut her throat."
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"Lorenzo Moretti," Clara spat, her finger hovering over the trigger of her submachine gun.
"Drop the weapon, little bird," Lorenzo said with a mocking smile. "Or my sniper through those trees will put a bullet through Dante Serrano’s spine before he even makes it out of the burning cellar."
