Chapter 5 - The Intruder in the Penthouse
A gloved hand reached around the corner of the doorframe, gripping the edge of the stainless-steel refrigerator with white-knuckled precision.
Before the intruder could step fully into the kitchen, Mia lunged forward, swinging her heavy leather boot like a club and catching the figure squarely across the forearm.
The intruder grunted in surprise, stumbling backward against the marble island, but didn't drop the suppressed pistol held in their other hand.
"Whoa, whoa! Hold your fire! It's me!" a familiar, gravelly voice hissed in a furious whisper.
Mia lowered the boot, her eyes widening in disbelief as Marco stepped out of the shadow of the pantry, clutching his bruised forearm and wincing in pain. He was dressed in a dark tactical turtleneck, a holster strapped across his chest, and his expression was a mix of sheer astonishment and grudging respect.
"Jesus Christ, Mia," Marco breathed, shaking out his arm. "If you keep hitting people with boots, you're going to put our entire security detail out of a job."
"You scared the hell out of me!" Mia whispered back, her chest heaving as the adrenaline subsided. "Why are you coming up the service elevator like a burglar? Where are the guards?"
Marco’s expression instantly hardened, the humor vanishing from his face as he grabbed her elbow and pulled her toward the center of the kitchen away from the windows.
"The guards at the ground-floor stairwell are dead, Mia," Marco said quietly, his voice dropping into a harsh, urgent whisper. "Sterling’s cleaning crew bypassed the exterior sensors five minutes ago. They didn't come through the front lobby—they came up through the utility shafts."
Mia’s blood turned to ice water. "How? Gabriel said this place was a fortress!"
"It is," Marco said, pulling a spare 9mm pistol from his tactical belt and pressing it firmly into her hand, wrapping her fingers around the grip. "Unless someone inside the organization gave them the master override codes."
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Mia stared down at the black steel weapon in her hand, feeling its cold weight against her palm. "Who?"
"We don't have time to figure out who," Marco said, his eyes darting toward the hallway as a faint, muffled crash echoed from the private study near the elevators. "Sterling knows you have the ledger keys. He didn't send enforcers this time—he sent professionals. And they're clearing the penthouse room by room."
