Chapter 19 - Ashes and Diamonds
The medical wing of the estate was the only room left entirely intact after the raid.
Clara sat in a plastic chair outside the surgical suite for six excruciating hours, her hands completely stained with Arthur’s dried blood.
She did not cry anymore.
Her tears had dried up hours ago, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that terrified anyone who walked past her.
When the lead surgeon finally emerged, he looked exhausted but offered her a slow, hesitant nod.
“The bullet missed his liver by an inch, Mrs. Moretti,” the doctor said quietly.
“He lost a massive amount of blood, but his heart is incredibly strong.”
“He is going to survive.”
Clara closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the crushing weight on her chest finally lifted.
She walked into the sterile room, finding Arthur heavily sedated and hooked up to a dozen whirring machines.
She kissed his forehead gently, her lips lingering against his pale skin.
“Rest now, my love,” Clara whispered softly in the quiet room.
“I will handle the rest.”
She walked out of the medical wing and marched directly down to the underground command center.
The remaining three captains were gathered around the tactical table, looking exhausted and thoroughly defeated.
When Clara entered the room, every single man stood up straighter, recognizing the absolute authority radiating from her posture.
“Volkov thinks he broke us,” Clara announced, her voice echoing off the concrete walls like a judge delivering a death sentence.
“He thinks Arthur is dying, and he thinks a former maid doesn't know how to run a war.”
She walked up to the tactical map, slamming her bloody hand down directly onto the location of the Russian’s lavish downtown penthouse.
“Gather every man who can still hold a weapon.”
“Empty the armory.”
“We are not waiting for them to regroup, and we are not sending a message.”
She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto the seasoned killers in the room.
“We are going to wipe the Volkov name off the face of the earth, and we are going to do it tonight.”
The captains did not hesitate, energized by the vicious resolve of their leader.
Two hours later, a massive convoy of black SUVs descended upon the Russian penthouse.
Clara did not wait in the cars.
She walked straight through the front doors of the luxury building, flanked by twenty heavily armed enforcers.
They slaughtered the Russian guards in the lobby, moving up the elevators with ruthless, mechanical precision.
When they breached the penthouse doors, Viktor Volkov was sitting in his leather chair, looking utterly shocked to see a woman leading the assault.
Clara walked up to him, the silver revolver steady in her hand.
May you like
“Arthur Moretti sends his regards,” she stated coldly.
Before Volkov could even utter a word of defense, Clara pulled the trigger, ending the war with a single, deafening shot.
