Chapter 17 - Shattered Glass
The execution of Captain Rossi sent a shockwave through the criminal underworld, but it did not deter Viktor Volkov.
It only enraged him.
Two days later, the Russians launched a massive, coordinated assault on the Moretti estate in the dead of night.
Clara was abruptly awakened by the deafening roar of a rocket-propelled grenade slamming into the western guard tower.
The impact shattered the penthouse windows instantly, sending thousands of razor-sharp glass shards flying across the bedroom.
Arthur threw his massive body over hers, shielding her completely as the glass rained down on his bare back.
The estate’s klaxon alarms began to wail, a shrill and terrifying sound that signaled a full perimeter breach.
“Stay down!” Arthur roared over the sound of automatic gunfire erupting from the front lawn.
He rolled off the bed, pulling a heavy assault rifle from a hidden compartment under the floorboards in a matter of seconds.
Clara scrambled to her feet, ignoring the small cuts on her arms as she grabbed the silver revolver from the nightstand.
“I am not hiding in the panic room this time,” she declared, chambering a round with a sharp click.
Arthur looked back at her, his face covered in a thin layer of dust and blood, looking entirely demonic.
He knew better than to argue with her now.
“Keep your back to the wall and stay behind me,” he ordered, tossing her an extra speed-loader.
They moved together out of the penthouse and into the dark, smoke-filled corridors of the executive wing.
The power had been cut, leaving the sprawling mansion illuminated only by the frantic flashes of muzzle fire outside.
They reached the grand staircase just as three heavily armed Bratva mercenaries breached the main foyer doors below.
Arthur leaned over the marble railing, unleashing a devastating burst of suppressing fire that dropped two of the men instantly.
The third mercenary dove behind a heavy stone pillar, pinning them down with blind fire that chipped away at the marble staircase.
Clara remembered scrubbing these exact floors for hours, knowing every blind spot and acoustic trick of the grand hall.
“He is reloading,” Clara whispered rapidly, touching Arthur’s shoulder.
“Fire at the chandelier chain, not at the pillar.”
Arthur did not question her logic.
He swung his rifle upward and fired three precise shots into the heavy brass chain securing the massive crystal chandelier above the foyer.
The chain snapped with a metallic shriek, and two tons of crystal and steel crashed down directly behind the stone pillar.
The mercenary was crushed instantly under the weight of the extravagant fixture.
Clara breathed a ragged sigh of relief, but a sudden noise behind them made her blood freeze.
A fourth Russian soldier had flanked them via the service elevator, stepping into the hallway right behind Arthur with his weapon raised.
Clara did not hesitate or scream.
She raised her silver revolver and fired twice into the mercenary’s chest before he could even pull his trigger.
The man collapsed backward, dead before he hit the carpet.
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Arthur turned around, looking at the dead man, and then at his beautiful, lethal wife.
“Remind me never to make you angry,” Arthur panted, a dark smirk pulling at the corner of his bloody mouth.
