Chapter 5 - The Glass and the Bullet
Upstairs, the grand foyer had become a killing zone.
Two tactical operatives in black ballistic gear dropped silently from the second-floor gallery, their suppressed submachine guns leveled at the center of the room.
Dominic rolled behind the reinforced marble base of the grand staircase just as a stream of 9mm rounds chewed the plaster wall inches above his head, raining white dust across his dark suit.
Bang. Bang.
Dominic fired twice through the narrow gap between the marble banister posts. One of the operatives screamed, dropping his weapon and collapsing onto the Persian rug as a bullet caught him cleanly in the shoulder.
The second operative instantly dove behind a marble pillar, returning suppressive fire that shattered the crystal chandelier above the entryway into a million sparkling diamonds.
“Dominic!” a voice echoed from the gallery above—Marcus Vance, his voice raspy and bloodied, leaning over the wrought-iron railing with a bandage wrapped clumsily around his ribs. “It’s over! You can’t fight an entire company! Drop the gun and walk out, and maybe—maybe—we’ll let your daughters live as orphans instead of burying them with their mother!”
Dominic didn't answer. He checked the magazine of his Glock.
Four rounds left.
Against three remaining operatives stationed on the upper landing and whatever backup Marcus had waiting outside the sealed perimeter doors.
He couldn't win a firefight. He wasn't a soldier; he was a businessman who had learned how to throw punches in the rough neighborhoods of Brooklyn thirty years ago before he bought his first skyscraper.
Think, he told himself, pressing his back against the cool marble pillar. What would Marcus protect? What is their weakest point?
It wasn't the guards. It wasn't the guns.
It was the control system.
The entire automated lockdown of the mansion—the security shutters, the gate locks, the comms—was routed through the main server rack located in the ground-floor library directly behind the east-wing study. If he could reach the master breaker and kill the grid, the electronic door locks would default to manual fail-safe mode, opening every exit in the house.
He had one chance.
Dominic pulled a heavy crystal ashtray from the mahogany side table beside him, wound up his arm, and hurled it with all his might toward the opposite side of the foyer.
Crash!
The ashtray shattered against a bronze statue near the front doors, creating a loud, echoing distraction.
The second operative on the gallery snapped his head toward the sound, raising his submachine gun.
May you like
It was all the opening Dominic needed.
He vaulted over the marble banister, sprinting low across the open floor toward the dark, wood-paneled corridor of the east wing, his boots pounding against the hardwood as a hail of bullets whizzed past his ears, biting deep into the doorframes.
