Chapter 6 - Blood on the MarbleThe hallway outside my study erupted into a cacophony of violence.
The sharp, deafening cracks of suppressed gunfire echoed off the high marble ceilings like rolling thunder. Shouts, the sound of breaking glass, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor vibrated through the reinforced walls.
“Emma! Stay behind the desk!” I ordered, wheeling my chair around to face the double doors of my study just as the lock splintered under the impact of a heavy kick.
The door flew open.
A massive enforcer in black tactical gear stepped through, raising a suppressed MP5 submachine gun directly toward my head.
Before he could pull the trigger, a heavy ceramic lamp whistled through the air, catching him square in the side of his helmet with a loud thunk. The enforcer staggered sideways, momentarily blinded by the impact.
It was Emma. She had hurled the heavy base of the desk lamp like a baseball pitcher.
That fraction of a second was all I needed. I raised my .38 and squeezed the trigger twice. Bang! Bang! The enforcer dropped like a stone, hitting the polished floor with a dull thud.
“Get down!” I yelled, grabbing Emma’s arm and yanking her behind the heavy mahogany desk as a hail of blind fire chewed through the wooden panels above our heads. Splinters rained down over us like confetti.
“Are you hit?” she breathed, her hands frantically checking my shoulders, her eyes wild with adrenaline.
“I’m fine!” I shouted back. “Listen to me—take my phone. Dial Luke’s direct channel. Tell him to trigger the gas valve in the west foyer.”
Before she could touch the phone, heavy footsteps approached the doorway.
A tall man in a tailored gray suit stepped over the body of the fallen enforcer, casually brushing a speck of dust from his lapel. He held a silver-plated Beretta loosely in his right hand.
Viktor Vance.
His face was a mirror image of mine—sharp planes, cold eyes, and a cruel, predatory smirk.
“Well, well, well,” Viktor purred, his voice dripping with venomous amusement as he stepped into the study. “Look at you, Danny. Reduced to a cripple hiding behind a desk with a terrified cleaning girl.”
I kept my gun leveled at his chest, my breathing slow and steady, my heart pounding a rhythm of pure ice. “You took a long drive from Detroit just to die in my hallway, Viktor.”
Viktor chuckled, raising his Beretta and pointing the barrel straight at Emma’s head where she knelt beside my chair. “I didn't come to die, cousin. I came to reclaim what’s mine. And starting with your little pet here, I’m going to strip away everything you care about before I put a bullet through your spine.”
My vision went completely red. The phantom pain in my legs vanished, replaced by a blinding, white-hot fury that surged through my veins like liquid fire.
“You touch her,” I whispered, my voice dropping into a terrifying, dead calm, “and I will personally drag you to hell piece by piece.”
Viktor grinned, tightening his finger on the trigger.
Emma didn't scream. Instead, with a sudden, violent lunge, she grabbed the heavy brass letter opener from the desktop and drove it with every ounce of her strength straight into the top of Viktor’s right boot, sinking it deep into his foot.
Viktor let out a sharp, agonized shriek of surprise, his aim jerking wildly upward just as I pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet grazed Viktor’s shoulder, spinning him around against the bookshelf. Before he could recover, Luke burst through the study doors, his assault rifle raised, smashing the butt of the rifle directly into the side of Viktor’s jaw.
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Viktor collapsed unconscious onto the blood-spattered Persian rug.
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the smell of cordite and the hiss of the storm outside.
