Chapter 7 - Reign of Fire and Steel
When I woke up, the smell of damp salt air and rusted iron filled my nose.
I was tied to a wooden chair inside a dark, cavernous shipping warehouse. Rain hammered relentlessly against the corrugated tin roof.
Beside me, tied to a smaller chair, was Emma. She was conscious, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on her small cheeks, but she didn't scream. She was trying to be brave, just like I had taught her.
Standing thirty feet away, illuminated by a single hanging work light, were Arthur Vance and Victoria.
Arthur Vance looked haggard, his suit disheveled, his eyes wild with the desperation of a trapped animal. He was pacing back and forth, holding a heavy satellite phone.
“Where is he?!” Victoria screamed at her father. “Why isn't he here yet?!”
“He’s coming,” Arthur rasped, his voice trembling. “The moment I sent him the video of his fiancée and the girl, he abandoned his whole army at the Plaza. He’s coming alone.”
My heart stopped. He’s coming alone.
Damiano was walking into a suicide trap for us.
Suddenly, the massive steel doors of the warehouse were torn completely off their hinges by a heavy tactical ramming vehicle.
The deafening roar of an engine echoed through the cavernous space as a matte-black armored truck smashed into the building, crushing two Vance mercenaries instantly under its wheels.
Sparks and glass rained down.
Before the smoke even cleared, Damiano emerged from the driver’s side.
He didn't wear a suit. He wore full tactical body armor, two sidearms strapped to his chest, and an automatic rifle held in his hands. His eyes were not human—they were pure, apocalyptic hellfire.
Behind him stepped Dante and twenty elite Moretti soldiers, moving in a lethal, sweeping wedge formation.
“Damiano!” Victoria shrieked, grabbing a pistol from her belt and pulling Emma close, pressing the barrel against my daughter’s temple. “Stop! Take one step closer and I put a bullet through her head!”
Damiano froze. His entire body went rigidly still, the muscle in his jaw thumping like a war drum.
“Victoria,” Damiano said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, dropping an octave into something primal. “Look at me.”
Victoria glared at him, her hands shaking violently. “I want a helicopter! I want ten million in cash! I want safe passage out of the country, or your precious little girl dies right here!”
Emma looked at Damiano through her tears. “Mr. Damiano...”
“I’m here, sweetheart,” Damiano said softly, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second as he met my daughter’s gaze. “I’m right here.”
He looked back at Victoria. “You have five seconds to let go of my daughter.”
“You’re in no position to bargain!” Arthur Vance roared, stepping forward with a shot-gun raised.
Damiano didn't even look at Arthur. He made a subtle signal with his left hand behind his back.
Above us, in the dark rafters of the warehouse, a high-caliber sniper round cracked through the tin roof.
Arthur Vance’s head snapped back. He dropped to the floor, dead before he hit the concrete.
Victoria screamed in horror as her father’s blood splattered across her face. In that fraction of a second of utter terror and distraction, Emma acted.
Remembering everything I had ever told her about danger, Emma threw her head back hard, cracking her skull directly into Victoria’s nose.
Victoria let out a shriek, dropping her weapon as she clutched her bleeding face.
“Now!” Damiano roared.
He closed the distance like a streak of lightning. Before Victoria could recover her gun, Damiano caught her by the throat, lifting her five feet off the ground with a single hand, slamming her hard against a steel support pillar.
His sidearm was pressed directly under her chin.
“You threatened my wife,” Damiano whispered into her ear, his voice icy enough to freeze blood. “You put a gun to my daughter’s head. There is no corner of this earth where you could have hidden from me.”
He pulled the trigger.
Victoria Vance dropped to the concrete floor, motionless.
The remaining Vance mercenaries dropped their weapons instantly, raising their hands in absolute terror.
Damiano didn't give them a second glance. He holstered his weapon, rushed over to our chairs, and cut my ropes with a tactical blade in one swift stroke.
May you like
I threw my arms around his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as he pulled both Emma and me into his massive, armored chest. He held us so tightly I could barely breathe, his body shaking with the violent aftershocks of adrenaline and desperate relief.
“I’ve got you,” Damiano rasped, kissing my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, over and over again. “I’ve got you both. It’s over. It’s finally over.”
