Chapter 16 - Vengeance in the Rain
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Chaos exploded across the master suite.
Dante dropped through the ceiling hatch of the elevator car like an avenging angel, dual Glocks barking in the dark. Two more of Viktor’s mercenaries went down before their bodies even hit the marble floor, while Luca and four tactical-armored Moretti soldiers stormed out of the emergency stairwell behind them, trapping Viktor’s crew in a deadly crossfire.
" saw your light show from the Brooklyn Bridge!" Luca roared over the gunfire, pinning down the hallway while Dante charged straight toward the north terrace.
On the wind-swept balcony, Orlov grabbed Clara by the hair, hauling her up off the flagstones and pressing the hot barrel of his pistol against her temple as a human shield just as Dante kicked the terrace doors off their hinges.
"Drop it, Moretti!" Orlov shouted, backing toward the parapet edge while Viktor scrambled toward the external fire stairs at the far end of the wrap-around balcony. "Drop the gun or I paint the glass with her brains!"
Dante stopped dead on the threshold.
His chest heaved beneath his tactical vest, blood streaking his cheek from a graze at the docks, his dark eyes locking onto the bruised, bleeding mark on Clara’s lip where Orlov had struck her.
The look on Dante’s face wasn't fear. It was pure, unadulterated promise of agony.
"You hit her," Dante said softly over the howling wind.
"I said drop the weapon!" Orlov screamed, his finger trembling against the trigger as Clara held her breath, her eyes fixed on Dante’s.
"Remember table twelve, Clara?" Dante asked calmly, not lowering his gun a fraction of an inch.
Clara understood instantly.
At table twelve, Dante had kicked the table up when she dropped down.
She went completely limp in Orlov’s grip, dropping her entire body weight straight toward the stone floor while driving the sharp heel of her shoe backward into Orlov’s kneecap.
Orlov cursed, his aim jerking an inch above her head for a tenth of a second.
That tenth of a second was all Dante needed.
BANG!
A single round took Orlov dead center between the eyes. The Russian consigliere tumbled backward over the low glass parapet, vanishing silently into the seventy-story abyss below.
Before the echo of the shot even faded, Dante crossed the terrace in three strides and caught Clara in his arms, crushing her against his armored chest as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, shaking uncontrollably.
"I've got you," Dante breathed fiercely into her hair, his hand cradling the back of her head. "I've got you, tesoro. Your brother and Maya are safe—my men caught the gondola on the sixtieth-floor setback two minutes ago."
"Viktor—" Clara gasped, pointing toward the external iron staircase at the corner of the roof. "And the basement! They planted C4 in the sub-basement!"
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"My bomb squad already cleared the utility vans downstairs and cut the detonators," Dante growled, releasing her just enough to press a small steel backup pistol into her palm. "Stay with Luca."
Dante turned toward the iron stairs leading up to the helipad. "Viktor doesn't leave this roof alive."
