Chapter 13 - Descent into the Cellar
The heavy steel door leading to the subterranean lower levels was secured by a digital keypad and a massive deadbolt, but Victor had underestimated the technological edge Dominic’s remaining loyalists still possessed. Vince produced a small, pocket-sized signal decoder, pressing it firmly against the glass interface of the lock. Within three agonizingly long seconds, the red LED indicator blinked green with a soft digital chirp, and the heavy bolt slid back into the frame with a muffled, mechanical thud.
Dominic rolled through the threshold first, his tactical turtleneck absorbing the damp chill of the subterranean stairwell. The descent was steep, descending into absolute darkness save for the narrow, amber beam of the tactical flashlight mounted beneath the barrel of Vince’s weapon. The air down here was stagnant, smelling of wet stone, old iron, and suppressed terror.
"Clear," Vince muttered, sweeping the lower corridor with surgical precision.
The basement was a series of reinforced brick holding rooms, relics of the warehouse's Prohibition-era smuggling roots. Heavy iron-barred doors lined the damp hallway, most of them empty and echoing with the drip of condensation from overhead pipes. At the very end of the corridor, however, a single sliver of yellow light cut across the grimy floorboards from beneath a reinforced oak door. Two armed guards were stationed directly outside it, leaning against the damp brick wall, murmuring quietly to one another.
They didn't hear the silent roll of the wheelchair over the packed earth and grime until it was far too late.
Vince moved like a ghost out of the mist. Before the nearest guard could even reach for the suppressed pistol at his waist, Vince’s arm locked around his throat, a sharp, crisp snap echoing through the enclosed space as the man slumped silently to the floor. The second guard’s eyes went wide with pure terror as he spun around, but Dominic was already there. With lightning speed, Dominic drew a heavy, titanium-reinforced telescoping baton from the holster mounted beside his seat, driving it upward with devastating force into the guard’s solar plexus.
The man gasped, dropping his weapon as the wind was violently driven from his lungs, before collapsing hard onto the stone floor. Dominic stood over him for a fraction of a second, his face completely devoid of mercy, before kicking the guard's fallen pistol away into the darkness.
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"Vince, secure the hallway," Dominic commanded softly, his breathing steady and controlled.
He rolled forward, stopping directly in front of the reinforced oak door. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear, but from an intense, burning surge of protective fury. He reached out with a steady hand, grabbed the iron handle, and threw the heavy door wide open.
