Chapter 4 - Crossfire in the Library
Automatic gunfire ripped through the darkness, chewing up the mahogany doorframe and sending a shower of wood splinters cascading across the floor.
“Down!” Gabriel roared, shoving me backward behind the heavy oak desk just as a wall of lead tore through the space where I had been standing.
Flashes of orange muzzle fire lit up the smoke-filled hallway outside. Gabriel didn't hesitate—he braced his injured left arm against the edge of the desk, raised his nickel-plated revolver with his right hand, and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
A sharp cry echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
“Clear the threshold!” a harsh, metallic voice shouted from the corridor. Two masked figures clad in tactical black body armor surged through the wreckage of the double doors, assault rifles raised.
Dr. Cole shrieked, ducking beneath a side table and covering his head with his hands.
Before the intruders could adjust their sights to the room, the heavy side door of the library swung open with a crash. Carmine burst back into the room like an enraged bull, holding a submachine gun and unleashing a blinding wall of suppressive fire that forced the attackers to scramble backward into the hallway cover.
“Auxiliary power’s on!” Carmine yelled over the roar of gunfire, his face streaked with soot and sweat. He ducked behind a marble pillar next to Gabriel’s desk. “We’ve got three more breaching the ground-floor conservatory! They’re using military-grade explosive charges on the side doors!”
“They want the room burned,” Gabriel said, his voice icy calm amidst the chaos. He fired another steady shot down the hallway, the muzzle flash illuminating his grim, sweat-beaded face. “They aren't here for a clean hit. They’re here to sanitize the evidence.”
I pressed my back hard against the cold stone of the pillar behind the desk, my hands trembling as I stared at the shattered remnants of the library. The air was thick with cordite, acrid smoke, and the heavy smell of panic.
“Boss, we can’t hold this position!” Carmine shouted, reloading his weapon with a slick, practiced click. “The whole east wing is cut off, and the smoke from the conservatory is venting up through the air ducts. We need to move you to the safe room downstairs!”
Gabriel gritted his teeth, a sharp grimace flashing across his face as he put weight on his shoulder. He looked down at me, his dark eyes cutting through the haze of smoke and flashing lights.
“Can you run, Elena?” he asked.
“I—I think so,” I stammered, gripping the edge of the desk for support.
“Good,” Gabriel said, grabbing my arm with a firm, inescapable grip as he hauled me to my feet. He tossed a spare Glock pistol across the desk toward Carmine, while keeping his revolver trained on the shattered doorway. “Because we’re walking out through the private tunnel behind the trophy case. And if anyone tries to stop us, you shoot them in the chest.”
“Boss, I’m a maid, not a hitman!” I protested, my voice cracking.
“Tonight,” Gabriel whispered, his face inches from mine, “you’re whatever keeps you alive. Let’s move!”
Carmine laid down a blistering wall of lead into the hallway, clearing a path toward the far corner of the library where the massive mahogany trophy case stood against the wall.
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With a grinding groan of heavy gears and hidden springs, the wall of glass and polished wood slid open into pitch-black darkness, revealing a steep, winding concrete staircase descending deep into the bowels of the estate.
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