Chapter 8 - The Siege of Palazzo Volkov
The Palazzo Volkov descended into absolute hell.
Automatic gunfire shattered priceless Renaissance mirrors, marble statues, and stained-glass windows. Dante’s elite strike force swept through the corridors like a storm, neutralizing Volkov’s mercenaries with brutal, terrifying efficiency.
Inside the upper study, Victor Volkov panicked. He grabbed Emily by her hair, yanked her out of the chair, and dragged her toward a hidden escape elevator behind a tapestry.
"Move, girl!" Victor snarled, pressing the gun against her side.
Emily didn't hesitate. As they reached the elevator threshold, she slammed her foot down onto Victor’s instep, driving her heel deep into his foot. Victor roared in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
Emily threw her shoulder into his chest, knocking him back against the stone wall. She sprinted toward the main hallway just as the heavy double doors of the study were blown off their hinges in a cloud of smoke and fire.
Dante burst through the smoke.
His dark eyes scanned the room wildly until they landed on Emily. Relief, dark and intense, flashed across his feature.
"Emily!" he roared.
"Dante! Behind you!" she screamed.
Victor Volkov scrambled to his feet, aiming his gold pistol directly at Dante’s back.
Dante spun around with terrifying speed. Before Victor could pull the trigger, Dante dropped his rifle, pulled a long tactical blade from his vest, and hurled it across the room.
The blade buried itself deep into Victor Volkov’s chest.
Victor gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he collapsed to his knees, his gun clattering onto the bloody marble floor. He stared at Dante, blood trickling from his mouth, before crashing face-down onto the floor, still and silent.
The king of the Volkov syndicate was dead.
Silence descended over the ruined study. Smoke drifted through the air, carrying the sharp tang of gunpowder and copper.
Dante turned slowly toward Emily. He dropped his tactical gear, his chest heaving as he walked toward her. His hands were shaking as he reached out, cupping her face in his warm, blood-stained palms.
"Are you hurt?" he choked out, his dark eyes searching every inch of her face, her neck, her hands. "Did he touch you? Tell me, Emily!"
"I'm fine... I'm fine, Dante," she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest.
Dante wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close she could feel every beat of his thundering heart. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, holding her as if she were the only real thing in a world made of chaos and ash.
"I thought I lost you," Dante whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion he had never shown to another living soul. "When they took you from the ship... I felt my whole world collapse."
Emily pulled back slightly, looking up at his scarred, handsome face. She reached up, brushing a lock of dark hair from his eyes.
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"You came for me," she whispered softly.
"I will always come for you," Dante swore, pressing his lips passionately to hers amidst the ruins of the palace. "In this life, or the next. You are my queen, Emily Hart. And no man will ever take you from me again."
