Chapter 4 - Blood on the Cobblestones
The attack came at precisely midnight, exactly as the autumn storm broke into a torrential downpour.
The wind shrieked through the oak trees surrounding the Ashford estate, masking the initial sound of silenced gunfire at the outer guardhouse. I was standing in the master study on the second floor, looking down the dark corridor toward the medical suite where Elena was resting under heavy guard, when the emergency red strobe lights began to pulse silently through the mansion.
Breach at the south perimeter gate.
I pulled my custom Sig Sauer P226 from my shoulder holster, checked the slide with a practiced click, and stepped out into the hallway.
Marco was already jogging up the grand staircase, his tactical vest buckled tight, blood smeared across his left forearm. "Boss! They blew the south gate with C4. At least thirty professional operators in full black tactical gear. They're bypassing the courtyard guards and heading straight for the main manor."
"Caldwell didn't send street thugs this time," I noted coldly. "He sent his private corporate hit squad."
"And they're looking for Elena," Marco confirmed, cocking his MP5. "They're moving through the west wing like a scythe."
"Not on my watch."
We moved down to the ground floor as the heavy oak front doors of the mansion exploded inward in a shower of splinters and blinding flashbang grenades. The concussive blast rattled the antique chandeliers overhead, plunging the grand foyer into a chaotic haze of white smoke and blinding white light.
Through the swirling smoke, dark tactical silhouettes poured into the foyer, weapons raised.
"Fire!" I roared.
The hallway erupted into a deafening symphony of gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark walls like summer lightning. Marco and I dropped flat behind the reinforced marble reception desk, returning fire with lethal precision. Two of Caldwell’s lead operators caught rounds to their ceramic chest plates and crashed hard onto the Persian rugs.
But there were too many coming through the breach.
"Fall back to the grand staircase!" I yelled over the din of battle, pumping three quick rounds into an advancing assailant who tried to vault the marble banister.
We retreated upward, covering each other step by step, leaving a trail of broken glass and empty brass casings in our wake. The air grew thick with the acrid smell of cordite and burning wool.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the upper landing near the master study.
I snapped my head around. A side window overlooking the second-floor balcony had been shattered from the outside. Two rappelling operators had dropped down from the roof, swinging right past the glass and kicking their way into the hallway leading directly to Elena’s room!
"Marco, hold the stairs!" I shouted, sprinting at full speed down the upper hallway.
I rounded the corner just as one of the operatives raised his rifle toward the heavy oak door of the medical suite. I didn't hesitate—I threw myself forward, tackling him mid-air just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet punched harmlessly into the ceiling plaster.
We slammed hard onto the polished hardwood floor. The operative tried to flip me, driving his elbow toward my jaw, but I blocked the strike, drove my knee into his ribs, and brought the butt of my pistol down hard across his temple. He went limp instantly.
The second operative spun around, leveling his weapon right at my chest.
Before he could pull the trigger, the heavy oak door of the medical suite clicked open behind him.
Elena stood in the doorway. She wasn't cowering anymore. In her right hand, she held one of my spare Sig Sauers that I had left on the bedside table, holding it with a steady, unblinking grip despite her battered, bruised body.
Bang.
The single gunshot echoed sharply through the hallway.
The operative’s eyes went wide, and he collapsed forward onto the carpet, lifeless, a clean bullet hole right between his tactical shoulder plates.
Elena lowered the smoking barrel, her dark brown eyes burning with a fierce, surviving fire that looked more terrifying than any mafia hitman I had ever seen.
I stood up, wiping dust from my jacket, staring at her in sheer astonishment. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Elena."
She let out a shaky, exhausted breath, lowering the weapon. "You saved my life yesterday, Dominic. I return debts."
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Before I could answer, heavy footsteps thundered up the grand staircase, followed by Marco’s voice shouting over the radio. "Boss! The main ground floor is secure! Victor flanked them from the underground garage and cut off their retreat. We've got three survivors pinned in the courtyard, and the rest are neutralized!"
I pressed my comms earpiece. "Good work, Marco. Round up the survivors. It's time we send Vincent Caldwell a personal invitation to dinner."
