Chapter 4 - Escape Through the CatacombsGlass shattered. Shouts and curses filled the dining room as Marcus’s guards opened fire, riddling the flipped mahogany table with bullets.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He pulled me behind him, sprinting toward the discreet service exit hidden behind a velvet wall panel at the back of the private room. It was an architectural quirk of The Sterling—an old building dating back to the late nineteenth century, originally designed as a private gentlemen's club with underground escape tunnels and wine cellars.
"Keep your head down!" Ethan yelled over the deafening clatter of gunfire behind us.
We slammed through the service door into a dark, narrow stone corridor that smelled of damp earth, old wine casks, and rust. The emergency lights flickered a sickly red overhead, casting long, frantic shadows against the exposed brick walls.
Behind us, heavy boots pounded against the stone floor. Marcus Vance’s voice echoed down the tunnel.
"Find them! Tear the basement apart! If they leave this building alive, we are all dead men!"
My lungs burned with every breath. My legs, unaccustomed to sprinting through underground catacombs while dodging assassins, felt like lead. But Ethan didn't let go of my hand. His grip was fiercely protective, guiding me through a labyrinth of concrete utility corridors beneath the streets of Manhattan.
We ducked behind a massive industrial HVAC unit just as a beam of tactical flashlight swept across the corridor wall three feet above our heads.
"Clear!" shouted one of the pursuers a few yards away.
I pressed my back against the cold concrete, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain they could hear it. Ethan pulled me flush against his side, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, his breathing heavy and controlled.
"Are you hit?" he whispered against my hair, his voice fierce and urgent.
"No," I breathed out, shaking my head in the dim red light. "I'm okay."
Ethan looked down at me, his gray eyes shining with an intensity that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with raw, unyielding resolve. The cold, ruthless billionaire portrayed in financial magazines had vanished. Standing here in the dark underbelly of New York City was a man fighting for his life, his company, and the truth about the man who had shaped my world.
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"They're guarding the main street exits," Ethan whispered, peering around the corner of the utility junction. "Our only option is the old steam tunnels leading down to the subway maintenance lines. It’s narrow, it’s dirty, and it’s dangerous."
"Lead the way," I said, wiping a streak of soot from my cheek. "I didn't survive twenty-four years of hiding by being afraid of the dark."
