Chapter 5 - BLOOD ON THE COBBLESTONES
"They hacked the building's mainframe," Marcus grunted, chambering a round into his weapon. "They've bypassed the biometric lock on the elevator. It's the Rossi hit squad. Has to be."
Damen's mind snapped into cold, tactical overdrive. The shock of Clara, the betrayal of Marcus, the revelation of his daughter—all of it was shoved into a mental vault. Right now, he was the apex predator of Boston, and someone had just stepped into his den.
"Secure the hallway," Damen ordered, his voice echoing in the red-lit room. "Nobody gets past the foyer."
Damen sprinted down the long corridor toward the guest room. He didn't knock. He kicked the heavy oak door open, the wood splintering inward.
Clara screamed, clutching Lily to her chest in the dark. She was backed into the corner of the room, holding a heavy brass lamp like a club.
"It's me," Damen said sharply, lowering his weapon so she could see his face in the ambient city light filtering through the window. "We are under attack. We are leaving right now."
"Who is it?" Clara cried, her eyes wide with terror. Lily was awake now, burying her face into her mother's neck, whimpering softly.
"The past," Damen said grimly. He reached out and grabbed Clara's arm, pulling her toward the door. "Keep Lily's face covered. Do not let go of my belt. You stay directly behind me."
They moved out into the hallway just as the elevator chimed its arrival at the penthouse.
The heavy steel doors slid open.
There was no negotiation. There was no grand speech. The moment the gap was wide enough, a barrage of automatic gunfire tore through the penthouse. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room shattered instantly, spraying millions of tiny glass diamonds across the Persian rugs. The wind and rain from the storm roared inside, ripping artwork from the walls.
Marcus was already firing from behind the marble kitchen island, his submachine gun spitting bright yellow flashes in the crimson dark. Two men in dark tactical gear dropped out of the elevator, dead before they hit the floor. But three more piled over them, spreading out into the room, taking cover behind the heavy leather sofas.
Damen pushed Clara and Lily behind a thick structural pillar in the hallway.
"Stay down!" he roared over the deafening cacophony of gunfire.
He leaned out from behind the pillar, raising his weapon. Damen Vance had not built his empire by sitting behind a desk. He was a lethal, calculated killer, and right now, he was defending his blood. He fired in short, controlled bursts. A man trying to flank Marcus took two rounds to the chest and collapsed backward into the shattered glass.
"Boss! The stairs!" Marcus yelled, reloading his weapon.
The stairwell door, located on the far side of the penthouse, burst open. Four more heavily armed Rossi hitters flooded in. They had climbed thirty flights of stairs to flank them.
"They want to trap us," Damen muttered. He looked down at Clara. She was shaking violently, covering Lily's ears, praying silently. Damen felt a surge of protective rage so intense it burned his throat.
"Marcus!" Damen yelled. "Blow the main breakers! We take the service shaft!"
Marcus understood instantly. He laid down a suppressing fire, forcing the Rossi men to duck, then turned and fired point-blank into the massive electrical panel on the kitchen wall. Sparks showered the room in a blinding explosion of white light, and then the emergency red lights died.
The penthouse was plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness, save for the lightning flashing outside the ruined windows.
"Go!" Damen grabbed Clara's hand, practically lifting her off her feet as he dragged her down the opposite end of the hallway, away from the living room.
They reached the end of the hall. Damen holstered his weapon and slammed his fist into a hidden panel in the wallpaper. A small section of the wall popped open, revealing a dark, narrow maintenance shaft that ran the length of the building, used for electrical cables and plumbing. It had a heavy iron ladder leading down.
"Down. Fast," Damen ordered.
Clara didn't hesitate. Fear gave her strength. She climbed onto the ladder, holding Lily tightly with one arm, using the other to grip the cold iron rungs. Damen followed immediately, pulling the hidden panel shut above them just as heavy boots pounded down the hallway outside.
They climbed down in absolute darkness, the sound of the storm outside muffled by the thick concrete walls. They descended three floors until Damen reached out and caught Clara's shoulder.
"Stop," he whispered.
He kicked open a ventilation grate, pulling Clara and Lily out into the 27th-floor maintenance closet. From there, they moved like ghosts through the empty, corporate offices of a sleeping law firm, making their way to the emergency stairwell.
They ran down twenty-seven flights of stairs. Clara's breath was ragged, her legs trembling with exhaustion, but she didn't stop. Damen carried Lily for the last ten flights, his large hand cradling the back of her head, protecting her from the harsh reality of their escape.
When they burst through the ground-floor exit door, they were in a dark, narrow alleyway behind the skyscraper, the rain instantly soaking them again.
A sleek, heavily armored black sedan was parked in the shadows, engine purring quietly. A Vance syndicate driver was behind the wheel. Marcus had managed to send a distress signal before the communications were jammed.
Damen threw the back door open, shoving Clara and Lily inside.
"Drive," Damen barked at the driver, slamming the door. "The secure bunker in Cambridge. Now."
The car shot out of the alleyway, tires screaming against the wet cobblestones, leaving the smoking, ruined penthouse behind.
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Clara collapsed against the leather seat, gasping for air, clutching her terrified, crying daughter. She looked over at Damen. He was bleeding from a shallow cut on his cheek, his suit covered in dust and gunpowder, his eyes entirely black in the passing streetlights. He was a monster. A killer. A warlord.
But as he reached out and gently wiped a tear from Lily's cheek with a thumb stained with gunpowder, Clara realized something else. He was a monster, yes. But he was their monster. And God help anyone who tried to hurt them.
