Chapter 5 - Shadows at the GatesThe harsh, blaring wail of an automated security klaxon shattered the intimate silence of the underground vault.
Warning. Perimeter breach detected at North Gate Sector One. Multiple unverified vehicles approaching. Hostile signatures confirmed.
David pulled back instantly, his dark romantic daze vanishing in a fraction of a second, replaced by the lethal, razor-sharp focus of an underworld commander. His eyes locked onto the security monitor mounted on the vault wall, which flickered to life.
Three matte-black SUVs had rammed straight through the outer security gates of the estate, spilling out a dozen heavily armed men wearing tactical gear bearing the insignia of the Rossi syndicate—our fiercest, most bloodthirsty rivals in the Chicago underworld.
"Damn it," David muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening into a granite block. "They tracked our shipping manifests from the docks earlier today. They figured out I was distracted."
My heart plummeted into my stomach. "Hostiles? David, are we trapped down here?"
"No," he said firmly, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a steel exit door at the back of the vault. "This vault has an emergency escape tunnel leading out to the wooded perimeter near the lake. Marcus knows the drill."
Before we could reach the tunnel door, the heavy steel security door of the vault echoed with the deafening thunder of a breaching charge.
Boom!
Sparks flew as the lock mechanism was blown apart.
David shoved me firmly behind a massive glass display case containing a priceless Renaissance painting. "Stay down! Do not move, no matter what you hear!"
"David, no—" I started, but he had already drawn a heavy, suppressed Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster, chambering a round with a sharp, lethal clack.
The vault door crashed inward. Three armed Rossi operatives poured into the room, assault rifles raised, scanning the dark corners for targets.
They didn't even see David step out from behind the shadow of a marble pillar.
Puff-puff-puff.
Three rapid, suppressed shots echoed in the enclosed space. The lead operatives collapsed silently onto the polished stone floor, neutralized with terrifying precision.
Before the fourth man could pivot his rifle toward David, a thunderous shotgun blast from the doorway echoed through the vault. Marcus stepped into the room, pumping a smoking shell out of his Remington and letting the empty brass casing clatter to the floor.
"Clear in the hallway, Boss," Marcus barked, his face blood-spattered and grim. "They’ve hit the main mansion. The western wing is burning from incendiary grenades. We have to move—now."
David rushed over to me, grabbing my arms and pulling me to my feet. His eyes were wild with a dangerous, protective fury. "Madison, listen to me. You're going with Marcus. He’s going to take you to the safehouse down in the city. I have to secure the communications grid and stop them from burning down the entire estate."
"I'm not leaving you here!" I cried, gripping his jacket. "There are too many of them, David! You can't fight an entire army by yourself!"
"I am the underworld boss of Chicago, Madison," he said, his voice dropping to a fierce, unshakable whisper as he pressed a quick, desperate kiss against my forehead. "I built this empire in blood, and I won't let some second-rate thugs tear it down. Go! Marcus, get her out of here!"
May you like
Marcus didn't hesitate. He grabbed my arm with an iron grip, hauling me toward the emergency tunnel exit despite my screaming protests.
As the heavy steel door of the tunnel slammed shut behind us, cutting off the deafening sound of gunfire and explosions echoing through the mansion, my last glimpse of David Prescott was of him standing amidst the priceless art displays, pistol raised, ready to burn his own world to the ground to keep me safe.
Related Stories
