Chapter 21 - The Siege of Hangar Seven
The heavy steel doors of Hangar Seven shuddered under the sudden, thunderous impact of a battering ram mounted on the front of an armored Ford F-550. Sparks showered across the reinforced glass of the upper viewports as the vehicle ground its way through the secondary access gate, tearing the iron hinges completely off their mountings.
Inside the cavernous space, Gabriel didn't flinch. He stood in the center of the concrete floor, one hand resting protectively on the small of Clara’s back, guiding her behind the reinforced engine block of an abandoned forklift. Dante and a dozen elite Moretti enforcers melted into the shadows along the catwalks and behind stacked crates of aircraft parts, their assault rifles raised and safety catches flicking off with a synchronized chorus of metallic clicks.
"Hold your fire until they dismount," Gabriel ordered into his tactical collar, his voice cutting clearly through the comms channel. "I want prisoners. I want to know who in Montreal authorized this suicide run."
The doors of the black SUVs swung open simultaneously. Out poured twenty heavily armed mercenaries clad in dark gray tactical gear, their faces obscured by ballistic masks and night-vision goggles. They moved with terrifying, military-grade efficiency, forming a wedge formation as they fanned out across the hangar floor, sweeping their rifle barrels through the dim, freezing air.
"Clear!" shouted the lead operator in French, gesturing frantically toward the darkened corners of the hangar.
"You're walking into a graveyard," Gabriel’s voice echoed off the high vaulted ceiling, amplified by the hangar’s ancient PA system.
The mercenaries froze. The lead operator spun around, his weapon tracking toward the source of the sound, but before he could squeeze the trigger, a blinding flash-bang grenade detonated directly above their formation.
*CRACK!*
A deafening roar filled the hangar, accompanied by a blinding magnesium white glare that dropped half the mercenaries to their knees, clutching their ears and screaming in agony.
"Now!" Dante roared.
From the catwalks, a hail of rubber-slug and stun-round gunfire rained down with merciless precision. The Moretti enforcers moved like phantoms, dropping from the rafters and sweeping the legs out from under the disoriented mercenaries before they could even raise their weapons. Within thirty seconds, the entire Montreal assault team was face-down on the cold concrete, zip-tied, disarmed, and groaning in pain.
The lead operator, his mask stripped away to reveal a bloodied nose and terrified eyes, tried to scramble backward against the wheel of an SUV. A heavy leather boot came down squarely on his chest, pinning him to the floor.
Gabriel looked down, his face a mask of cold, unfeeling marble. He rested the barrel of his sidearm lightly against the man’s forehead.
"Who sent you?" Gabriel asked quietly.
The mercenary spat a mouthful of blood onto the snow-dusted concrete. "You... you think Castiglione was the head of the snake, Moretti? You think Montreal only had one master?" The man let out a harsh, hysterical laugh. "The Council of Quebec already ratified your execution three days ago. Even if you kill us, the girl's bloodline is a contagion. They won't stop until every Moretti in Illinois is food for the worms."
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He pressed the barrel harder against the man's skin. "Let them try."
He stepped back, signaling Dante to haul the prisoner to his feet. "Toss them in the back of the transport truck. We’re taking them to the main estate. It’s time to call an emergency session of the Commission."
Clara stepped out from behind the forklift, her face pale but her jaw set with a newfound, terrifying resolve. She walked up to Gabriel, her hazel eyes searching his face. "They’re coming for Lily, aren't they? No matter where we go, as long as I carry this bloodline, they won't stop."
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Gabriel turned to her, his expression softening instantly as he wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her close against his armored vest. "They can send every assassin in North America, Clara. They will have to step over my corpse to get to you or our daughter." He kissed her forehead tenderly. "Let them come. We are going home."
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