Chapter 6 - The Breach
Viktor hauled me toward a hidden service elevator tucked behind a sleek wood-paneled wall. The doors slid open silently, revealing a narrow, steel-walled shaft descending deep into the bedrock beneath the building.
“Get in,” Viktor ordered.
“What about Dante?” I demanded, planting my feet.
“The boss knows how to take care of himself. Move!”
The heavy doors hissed shut, plunging us into dim, amber emergency lighting as the elevator plummeted downward at a dizzying speed. My stomach lurched violently, every nerve ending screaming at me that I was abandoning the only person who understood the nightmare I had just been dragged into.
When the elevator finally stopped with a soft clunk, the doors opened into a compact, heavily fortified concrete room equipped with secure monitors, communication arrays, and emergency medical supplies.
“Inside. Lock the secondary deadbolt behind me,” Viktor instructed, pushing me gently into the room before stepping back out.
“Wait—you’re leaving?”
“My post is upstairs with the boss,” Viktor said grimly. “Stay away from the door.”
The heavy steel door slammed shut. The mechanical locking mechanism engaged with a series of loud, heavy thuds.
I was completely alone.
I rushed to the wall-mounted monitor console. The multi-feed camera display showed the various zones of the penthouse upstairs.
My heart stopped.
On Camera Three, the main living area, three dark figures dressed in tactical gear had breached the sliding glass balcony doors, shattering the reinforced glass in a silent cascade of crystal shards.
Dante was standing near the center of the room.
He wasn't hiding. He stood in the open, his pistol raised, his posture perfectly balanced.
As the first intruder lunged around the kitchen island, Dante fired twice. The silenced report sounded like heavy thuds. The intruder dropped instantly, collapsing against the marble counter.
The remaining two attackers opened fire.
Sparks flew off the steel-framed windows as bullets tore through the room. Dante rolled behind a heavy sofa, returning fire with clinical, ruthless precision. One attacker staggered backward, clutching his shoulder, while the other dove behind a pillar.
“Dante,” I whispered aloud to the empty concrete room, my hands gripping the edge of the console until my knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, the monitor feed flickered violently and went black.
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“No, no, no!” I slammed my palm against the console.
The camera in the main living area was dead.
