Chapter 18 - The Devil’s Bargain
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"Smart boy," Viktor breathed, a cruel smile spreading across his wet face as Luca reluctantly lowered his rifle by the stairwell. "Who knew the great Dante Moretti actually had a heart beneath all that kevlar? Camilla swore you were made of ice. Turns out you just needed the right stray to warm you up."
Viktor took two steps sideways toward the service door while keeping the .357 trained squarely on Dante’s chest and his left thumb pressed tight against the dead-man’s switch.
"Here is how this works," Viktor called out over the rain. "I walk down the service stairs to the street. Once I’m three miles clear of Manhattan, I flip the safety toggle and toss the detonator in the Hudson. If anyone follows me—boom."
Clara watched Viktor’s eyes.
She had spent six months waiting tables for the wealthiest, most ruthless liars in New York, and the last twenty-four hours surviving Viktor Kael’s games. She saw the subtle shift in his stance, the tightening of his shoulder muscles.
He wasn't going to wait until he was three miles away.
The moment he shot Dante, he was going to let go of that button and blow the terrace anyway just to make sure no one chased him down the stairs.
Inside the pocket of her torn emerald coat, Clara’s fingers curled around the cold steel grip of the small backup pistol Dante had pressed into her hand five minutes ago.
Viktor didn't know she was armed. To him, she was still just the terrified waitress from L’Ombra.
"Dante," Clara whispered, taking a half-step forward onto the platform, her empty left hand raised in a pleading gesture while her right hand remained buried inside the folds of wet emerald silk. "Please—"
"Stay back, Clara," Dante warned sharply, sensing what she was doing.
Viktor chuckled darkly, shifting his gaze for a fraction of a second to mock her. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Once I put a bullet in his skull, you won't have to worry about your brother’s knee ever again—"
Viktor swung the .357 back toward Dante’s head to fire.
Clara didn't pull the gun from her pocket—she aimed straight through the emerald silk and pulled the trigger twice.
BANG! BANG!
The rounds tore through the fabric of her coat and slammed straight into Viktor’s right shoulder, spinning him violently backward before he could squeeze the trigger of his Magnum.
At the exact same instant, Dante lunged across the wet steel like a striking panther.
As Viktor’s fingers spasmed, releasing the dead-man’s switch into the pouring rain, Dante’s hand shot out mid-air, catching the falling detonator inches above the steel deck and clamping his thumb down over the pressure plate before the spring could fully release.
On the edge of the helipad, Viktor hit the wet safety railing off-balance, his eyes wide with shock as his boots slipped on the rain-slicked iron.
With a strangled cry, Viktor Kael pitched backward over the rail, hurtling down through the storm clouds toward the empty courtyard seventy floors below.
Dante hit the deck hard on his bruised ribs, rolling onto his back in the pouring rain with his left thumb locked like a vise over the blinking red switch in his palm.
Clara ran to his side, dropping to her knees in the puddles as Luca sprinted over with a combat knife and a roll of heavy black tactical tape.
"Hold still, Boss!" Luca breathed, sliding the steel blade carefully beneath the trigger mechanism to jam the pin before wrapping the entire pressure switch in six layers of reinforced tape.
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The blinking red light turned solid green. DISARMED.
Clara let out a choked sob of relief, collapsing forward onto Dante’s chest as his free arm came up and wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her against his racing heart in the rain.
