Chapter 4 - The Iron Box|
The panic room was a dark, narrow space built directly into the concrete core of the skyscraper. It smelled of ozone, canned water, and cold steel.
I slammed the four-inch-thick steel door shut and turned the mechanical wheel until three heavy iron deadbolts clicked into place.
Outside, the world went silent. The room was completely soundproof, equipped with independent air scrubbers and a bank of black-and-white security monitors displaying feeds from every floor of the residence.
I sank onto a metal bench, clutching my knees, staring at the screens.
On Monitor 4, the grand private elevator doors on the sixtieth floor slid open.
Three men in dark tactical gear stepped out, holding suppressed submachine guns. Leading them was Matteo Ruiz.
My underboss didn't look like a man trying to save his leader. His face was cold, set in stone, his weapon raised as he moved toward the study.
Behind him stepped a woman.
She was stunning—tall, wearing a long fur coat over an ivory silk dress, her dark hair pinned up with diamond clips.
Elena Castiglione.
She walked through the blood-drenched elevator hallway as if she were inspecting a new penthouse she had just purchased at auction. She paused near the pantry door, looking down at the wet gray mud Matteo had left earlier, a faint, cruel smile touching her red lips.
On Monitor 1, inside the study, Silas sat quietly behind his mahogany desk.
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He had poured himself a glass of dark amber scotch. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint white scars running along his forearms from years of street combat.
He looked completely relaxed. Like a king waiting to receive visitors.
