Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Hallway
Vincent’s blood ran cold.
The security guards weren't just drinking scotch—they had been bought off, or worse, eliminated. Dominic wasn't waiting for morning. He was cleaning house tonight.
“Get under the desk,” Vincent hissed, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair as he angled himself to block the doorway.
“I’m not leaving you here,” Tessa whispered fiercely, her voice dropping into a low register that brooked no argument. She grabbed a heavy brass paperweight from the desk, her knuckles white around the metal. “I don't know how to shoot a gun, Mr. Corvino, but I know how to break a skull.”
Vincent stared at her through the gloom, a fierce, primal surge of respect washing over him. She was a maid from East L.A. with a sick sister, standing in a dark room with a crippled mob boss, ready to fight for her life.
“Listen to me,” Vincent said, his voice hard as iron. “The panic room is behind the wood-paneling in the corner. If I can’t hold the door, you crawl in there and lock it from the inside. There’s a tunnel leading to the garage.”
“And what about you?” Tessa demanded.
“I’m the target,” Vincent said, pulling a heavy .45 caliber pistol from the holster strapped beneath the armrest of his wheelchair—a weapon everyone assumed he couldn't reach in time. He clicked off the safety with a sharp, metallic snick. “Now get down.”
A shadow fell across the frosted glass double doors of the study.
The doorknob rattled. Once. Twice.
Then, the lock was blown out with a muffled, suppressed pop. The door swung inward, revealing two armed figures clad in black tactical gear, silhouetted against the dim hallway lights.
“Clear,” the first man grunted, stepping into the room with an assault rifle raised.
Vincent didn't hesitate. Seated low in his wheelchair, completely hidden by the overhang of the mahogany desk, he raised the .45 and fired twice through the wood.
Bang! Bang!
The muzzle flash lit up the dark study in blinding white strobes. The lead operative screamed, dropping his rifle as he crashed backward onto the marble floor.
“Flank! Flank!” the second operative yelled, diving behind a leather armchair as return fire chewed through the bookshelf behind Vincent, sending wood splinters flying.
“Tessa, now!” Vincent roared, firing again to pin the second man down.
Instead of crawling to the panic room, Tessa lunged forward, grabbing the heavy glass inkwell from the desk and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall near the door, creating a loud distraction just as the second operative popped up to return fire.
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The operative swung his weapon toward the sound, but Vincent had already adjusted his aim.
Before Vincent could squeeze the trigger, a blinding set of headlights flashed through the study windows from the driveway outside, accompanied by the screech of tires and the heavy thud of a vehicle ramming directly through the front iron gates of the estate.
