Chapter 10 - The Price of Blood
The thermal charge hissed, glowing a blinding, molten orange as it melted through the three-inch steel core of the panic room door. Sparks showered across the floor, igniting a small rug near the control console.
I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, scanning the room frantically for anything I could use as a weapon. My fingers brushed against the heavy brass paperweight on the secondary desk. I gripped it, my knuckles white, staring at the glowing metal seam as it began to buckle inward.
With a deafening crash, the center of the vault door blew inward, collapsing onto the Persian rug in a cloud of acrid smoke and gray dust.
A massive, scarred mercenary stepped through the breach, his assault rifle raised, scanning the dim interior of the panic room through night-vision goggles. His eyes locked onto me standing by the desk.
“There’s the prize,” a harsh, broken voice grated in Russian through his comms unit. “Grab the girl. Vitali is bleeding out in the courtyard.”
My blood ran cold. Bleeding out.
Before the mercenary could lower his rifle barrel toward me, a dark shadow dropped from the shattered ductwork directly above the doorway.
Alessandro.
He landed squarely on the mercenary’s shoulders with the brutal force of a falling anvil, driving the man face-first into the marble floor with a sickening crunch. Before the second mercenary could pivot his weapon, Alessandro rolled, firing three rapid, suppressed rounds through the man’s tactical vest.
Both intruders crumpled instantly, motionless on the floor.
I dropped the brass paperweight, gasping for air as I stumbled forward.
Alessandro stood up slowly, leaning heavily against the console. His white shirt was soaked in dark, spreading crimson across his left shoulder, and a deep gash ran along his temple, dripping blood into his amber eyes.
“Alessandro!” I cried out, rushing to his side and throwing my arms around his waist to keep him from collapsing.
He groaned softly, his strong arms wrapping around me as he leaned his weight against my shoulder. “I told you... I always come back.”
“You’re bleeding—you’re bleeding so much,” I sobbed, trying to press my hand against the gunshot wound on his shoulder to stem the flow of dark red blood soaking through his clothes.
“The service tunnel,” he breathed, his voice growing weaker as his knees buckled. We sank down together onto the floor amidst the smoke and shattered steel. “Mrs. Gable... is waiting by the boathouse. Take the boat, Elizabeth.”
“No,” I said fiercely, cupping his face with both hands, ignoring the blood smearing across my skin. “I am not leaving you here to die, Alessandro Vitali. You dragged me into this war, and you’re going to survive it with me.”
A faint, tired smile touched his lips as his eyelids fluttered downward. “Stubborn... to the very end.”
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“Stay awake!” I shouted, shaking his shoulder as sirens began wailing in the distance—police sirens, flashing red and blue against the burning ruins of the courtyard gates.
Outside the shattered windows of the panic room, the cold Chicago dawn broke over Lake Michigan, casting a pale, bloody light across a world that would never be the same again.
