Chapter 6 - Blood on the Glass
The room erupted into chaos.
Automatic gunfire stitched through the balcony curtains, ripping the silk canopies to shreds and gouging deep craters into the plaster walls. Plaster dust and cordite filled the air, choking my lungs.
"Down!" Dante roared, throwing his entire body over mine behind the overturned mahogany desk.
The heat of his chest pressed against my back, his arm a steel band locking me against the floor. With his right hand, he returned fire through the shattered doorway, firing three controlled, rhythmic shots. A heavy grunt and the wet thud of a body hitting the stone terrace followed.
Orion was a gray blur of fury.
The beast didn't hide. He launched himself through the ruined curtains into the storm outside. A second later, a blood-curdling scream tore through the sound of rain, followed by the sickening crunch of bone.
"Orion, no!" I screamed, trying to scramble out from beneath Dante.
"Stay where you are!" Dante snarled, his face inches from mine, his eyes wild with adrenaline. "They’re using submachine guns, Olivia! Don't you dare move!"
Heavy footsteps pounded up the exterior stairs. Two more shadows appeared on the terrace, their silhouettes framed by the flashes of lightning over the Hudson.
Dante squeezed the trigger—*click.*
Empty. The slide locked back.
"Dammit," he hissed, reaching into his pocket for a spare magazine.
Before he could seat the fresh clip, a masked figure in black tactical gear breached the threshold, raising a short-barreled MP5 directly at Dante’s chest. Time dilated. I saw the shooter’s finger tightening on the curved metal trigger.
My mind didn't think. My body simply acted.
Fourteen years of waitressing in rough bars, dodging drunken punches, combined with an ancient, primal instinct I didn't know I possessed, took over. I grabbed a heavy bronze table lamp from the floor beside me and swung it with everything I had.
The solid metal base struck the intruder squarely across the bridge of his nose.
The man grunted, his shot going wild into the ceiling, showering us with burning sparks and drywall. Dante capitalized on the distraction instantly. He surged upward like a coiled viper, driving the heel of his palm upward under the man's chin. There was a sharp, sickening snap. Dante ripped the submachine gun from the intruder's limp fingers, turned, and fired a lethal burst into the second shadow on the terrace.
The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the hammering of rain against the broken glass and the ragged sound of our breathing.
Orion trotted back through the shredded curtains. Blood coated his muzzle, but his amber eyes were calm, almost proud. He nudged my shoulder with his wet nose, leaving a smear of crimson across my sleeve.
"Orion... you're hurt?" I gasped, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I checked his chest and legs.
"It’s not his blood," Dante said, lowering the weapon.
He was staring at me. His gaze was no longer just intense—it was shocked. He looked down at the unconscious, bleeding mercenary on the floor, then up at the bronze lamp still clutched in my white-knuckled grip.
"Where did you learn to strike like that?" Dante asked, his voice rough.
"I... I don't know," I stammered, the adrenaline draining rapidly, leaving my limbs feeling like liquid lead. "He was going to shoot you."
Footsteps thunderously converged outside the hallway door. Enzo and four heavily armed guards burst into the room, their rifles raised, scanning the carnage.
"Boss!" Enzo gasped, taking in the shattered glass, the dead operatives, and the blood on the floor. "The perimeter sensors were looped. They came up the river cliff using climbing gear."
"I know how they came up," Dante said coldly, stepping over the broken glass toward the mercenary I had knocked down. He knelt, ripping off the man's balaclava.
Tattooed across the man’s throat was a black scorpion—the unmistakable mark of Lorenzo Rossi’s private strike team.
"They didn't waste time," Dante muttered, his jaw ticking with murderous intent. "Lorenzo knows she’s here."
Dante stood up, wiping a streak of rain and plaster from his forehead. He looked at Enzo. "Lock down the estate. I want the armored safe room prepped, and get the medical team to look over Orion and Miss Vance."
"Right away, Don Moretti."
Dante turned to me. Without a word, he grabbed my hand. His fingers were covered in soot, but his grip was firm, grounding me amidst the nightmare. He pulled me up from the floor, his eyes searching every inch of my face for injuries.
"You saved my life," he murmured, his voice so low only I could hear.
May you like
"I saved myself," I whispered back, my voice trembling. "You just happened to be in the way."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, dangerous and intoxicating. "Whatever you say, little bird. But from this second on, you don't leave my sight. Not even to sleep."
