Chapter 9 - THE VIPER’S LAST STRIKE
The peace, however, was shattered three days later.
While Dante was in Helena finalizing the legal acquisition of the rail terminals, a splinter cell of Petrov loyalists, backed by corrupt local deputies, launched a desperate, suicidal assault on the Blackthorn compound.
Sirens wailed across the granite ridges as automatic gunfire tore through the lower gatehouse. Eloise was in the library when the first explosions rattled the foundations, blowing out the tall panoramic windows in a shower of glittering safety glass.
"Miss Crawford! Move to the safe room!" Marco shouted, tactical rifle raised as he breached the study, bleeding from a shrapnel wound on his cheek.
"Where is Dante?" she demanded, refusing to panic. The girl who had pulled children from a flaming inferno was wide awake inside her.
"He's thirty minutes out by chopper! We have to lock down the inner sanctum!"
Before they could cross the mezzanine, three masked gunmen breached the grand double doors of the foyer, firing wildly. Marco engaged them, dropping two, but a high-caliber round caught him in the shoulder, spinning him against the wall.
Eloise didn't scream. She spotted an antique 12-gauge shotgun mounted above the stone mantlepiece—a display piece, but Dante had taught her that every weapon in this house was fully loaded and functional.
She grabbed the heavy timber-stock weapon, racked the slide with a clean, sharp clack, and aimed down the grand staircase at the final intruder who was raising his rifle toward the wounded Marco.
"Drop it!" Eloise roared.
The intruder hesitated, shocked by the sight of the scarred woman standing at the top of the stairs with a shotgun leveled at his chest.
BOOM.
Eloise pulled the trigger. The heavy buckshot blew through the banister, catching the gunman in the torso and sending him tumbling backward down the marble steps, completely neutralized.
Suddenly, the roar of helicopter blades shook the entire estate.
A black MH-6 Little Bird helicopter descended directly over the courtyard, searchlights blinding the remaining attackers outside. The side door flew open before the skids touched the snow, and Dante leaped out into the chaos, dual sidearms blazing.
Within ninety seconds, the courtyard was pacified. Dante stormed through the broken foyer like an enraged god of war, kicking aside fallen weapons, his eyes frantically sweeping the wreckage until they found Eloise at the top of the stairs, still holding the smoking shotgun, her breathing steady and her chin held high.
Dante dropped his weapons, sprinted up the stairs three at a time, and caught her in his arms, lifting her off her feet as he buried his face in her neck, trembling with pure, unadulterated terror at the thought of losing her.
"You're safe," Dante choked out, his voice cracked with raw emotion. "My God, Eloise... you're safe."
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Eloise let the shotgun clatter to the carpet, wrapping her arms tightly around his broad neck. "I told you, Dante. I don't run from fire."
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