Chapter 7 - WRATH OF THE SYNDICATE
The hallway erupted in absolute, controlled violence.
Dante Moretti appeared at the end of the corridor like a wrathful deity stepping out of the shadows. He didn't carry a pistol; he held a submachine gun with terrifying familiarity, his posture rigid and his gray eyes locked onto the two mercenaries rushing out of the server room.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Suppressor-muffled gunfire punched through the air with lethal precision.
The lead mercenary dropped his weapon instantly, spinning around and collapsing against the concrete wall as non-lethal heavy-impact rounds shattered his tactical vest and dropped him to his knees. The second mercenary raised his rifle toward Dante, but before his finger could even brush the trigger, two of Moretti’s elite guards appeared behind Dante, tackling the intruder to the floor and slamming his face into the concrete with bone-crushing force.
Within three seconds, the threat was neutralized. Complete, absolute silence descended upon the subterranean corridor once more, broken only by the hum of the server racks and the heavy breathing of the captured mercenaries.
Dante dropped his weapon to a low ready, his eyes scanning the corridor until they locked onto Clara standing near the doorway, trembling slightly beneath her oversized hoodie.
In a fraction of a second, the syndicate boss vanished. The man who replaced him was simply a man terrified for the woman he loved.
Dante sprinted down the corridor, dropping his weapon to the floor as he reached her, pulling Clara into his arms with fierce, desperate intensity.
"Clara! Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" Dante demanded, his hands frantically examining her shoulders, her arms, her face, checking for any sign of injury.
"I'm okay, Dante. I'm okay," Clara whispered, burying her face against his chest, finally letting the adrenaline crash and the exhaustion take hold. "The baby... the baby is fine."
Dante wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her dark hair, his broad chest heaving as he pulled her as close to his heart as physically possible.
"I'm sorry," Dante muttered fiercely against her temple, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I left you exposed. I thought the north gate was the main push. I should never, ever have left your side."
"You came," Clara murmured, looking up into his fierce gray eyes. "You always come."
Dante reached down, gently lifting her chin so their eyes met, and kissed her—deeply, passionately, sealing a silent vow that no Ashford, no mercenary, and no syndicate enemy would ever lay a hand on her again.
Behind them, the lead enforcer stepped forward, saluting crisply. "Boss. The perimeter is secure. Marcus Vance’s strike team has been completely neutralized. All survivors are in custody, and federal agents are already en route to take custody of the prisoners."
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Dante didn't take his eyes off Clara. He simply raised his hand, waving the enforcer away without looking back.
"Clear the level," Dante ordered quietly. "And make sure Marcus Vance learns what happens when you step foot on Moretti ground."
