Chapter 11 - THE RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
-11-
The red digital clock on the monitoring screen flashed ruthlessly: 00:00:09... 00:00:08...
Time evaporated in a blinding flash of instinct.
Roman didn't hesitate. He released his grip on Victor Vance, letting the old man slump unceremoniously to the floor, and grabbed Harper by the waist with one powerful arm, hauling her toward the shattered frame of the private elevator shaft.
"Silas! Get the secondary freight lift online! Now!" Roman roared into his lapel comms-link, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as the building’s emergency klaxons began to wail a deafening, continuous shriek.
"Boss, the ground floor service bay is blocked by debris from the first breach!" Silas’s voice crackled back, broken by static and heavy coughing. "We can't get the freight lift moving!"
"Then we take the stairs!" Roman commanded.
He didn't let go of Harper. He hoisted her up against his side, practically carrying her as he sprinted toward the emergency stairwell door tucked behind the executive archive room. Victor Vance scrambled awkwardly to his feet, coughing and clutching his lapels, scrambling blindly toward the elevator shaft in a desperate bid to save his own skin.
"Let him burn," Harper yelled, looking back as they reached the heavy fire door.
"He's not worth the ammunition," Roman muttered.
00:00:03... 00:00:02... 00:00:01...
BOOM!
The concussive blast hit the skyscraper like a physical fist of God. The shockwave tore upward through the service shafts, blowing out the reinforced glass windows of the penthouse suite in a glittering storm of razor-sharp shards. The floor beneath their feet buckled violently, sending Roman and Harper tumbling down the concrete steps of the fire escape as the building shuddered under the immense pressure of the underground explosion.
Dust, smoke, and choking gray soot filled the stairwell, plunging the emergency shaft into absolute darkness.
Harper coughed violently, her hands scraping against the rough concrete wall as she tried to catch her breath. Through the ringing in her ears, she felt a large, warm hand grab her shoulder, pulling her upright.
"Are you hit?" Roman’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and urgent, his hands frantically checking her arms and face for injuries.
"I'm... I'm okay," Harper gasped, wiping soot from her eyes. "What about the restaurant? Silas and the others?"
"They're in the reinforced basement shelter. They're trained for this," Roman said, his voice hard as flint. He pulled a small, tactical flashlight from his belt, clicking it on to reveal the ruined interior of the stairwell. The metal doors below them were jammed shut with twisted rebar and fallen drywall.
They were trapped between the blown-out upper floors and the blocked lower exits.
"We need to find another way out," Harper said, her adrenaline surging as she scanned the emergency exit signs flickering with dying battery power.
Before Roman could answer, a raspy, coughing sound echoed from the landing above them.
They slowly raised their flashlights.
Emerging from the smoke near the top of the stairwell was Victor Vance. His expensive overcoat was shredded, his face covered in soot and blood, but he was alive—and in his right hand, he clutched a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol, leveling it directly at Roman’s chest.
"It seems... clever engineering... has its limits," Victor wheezed, coughing violently as he lined up the sights. "You die here, Moretti. And the ledger dies with you."
Harper didn't think. She didn't calculate the odds.
She lunged forward, throwing her entire body weight against Victor’s arm just as he pulled the trigger.
Crack.
The silenced bullet punched harmlessly into the concrete ceiling, raining a shower of plaster dust over their heads.
Victor cursed, swinging the butt of the pistol around to strike Harper across the temple, but Roman was already moving with the lethal, explosive speed of a cornered wolf.
In a single, fluid motion, Roman closed the distance, grabbed Victor by the throat, and slammed him hard against the reinforced iron railing of the stairwell. The metal groaned under the impact, and Victor’s pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering down the dark concrete stairs into the abyss below.
"You picked the wrong city to wage a war, Victor," Roman whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, razor-sharp baritone that made the air in the stairwell feel instantly frozen.
"Go to... hell..." Victor choked out, his eyes rolling back as Roman’s grip tightened around his windpipe.
With a final, merciless heave, Roman hoisted the old man over the railing.
A sharp gasp, followed by a long, echoing silence, marked the end of the man who had pulled the strings of the underworld for thirty years.
Roman stood at the edge of the railing for a long moment, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his torn shirt. Then, he turned his head slowly, looking down at Harper as she stood in the dim, flickering flashlight beam.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softening instantly as he rushed over to her side, his large hands gently cupping her face.
"I'm fine, Roman. I'm really fine," Harper whispered, resting her hands against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy beat of his heart beneath her palms.
May you like
For the first time since she had walked into Bellamy House, the terror was entirely gone. There were no ghosts chasing her, no federal agents hunting her down, and no secrets left to bury.
There was only the quiet, smoky stairwell, the city burning softly in the distance, and the dangerous, terrifying man who had torn the world apart just to keep her safe.
