Chapter 10 - THE EXECUTIONER'S RETURN
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Tessa screamed, lashing out with her foot and kicking the nearest metal trash can directly into the attacker’s shins. The man grunted in pain, stumbling backward, but his partner immediately raised the butt of his assault rifle, aiming a vicious swing straight toward Tessa’s head.
She threw her hands up, squeezing her eyes shut, bracing for the bone-crushing impact.
It never landed.
A deafening roar shattered the air inside the library, accompanied by a blinding flash of muzzle fire from the doorway.
The second attacker froze mid-swing. A red mist bloomed across the chest of his tactical vest, and his eyes rolled back into his head before he collapsed heavily onto the floor, lifeless.
The first attacker whipped around, raising his rifle toward the door, but a second gunshot cracked through the room with ruthless precision, striking him squarely in the throat. He gurgled, dropping his weapon and sinking to his knees before tipping over sideways into the dust.
Tessa opened her eyes, shaking uncontrollably.
Standing framed in the blown-out wreckage of the library doors was Victor Romano.
His clothes were covered in soot, ash, and fresh blood. His face was streaked with grime, and his left shoulder bandage was completely soaked through with crimson, but his grip on his SIG Sauer pistol was rock-steady. He looked like an avenging angel of death stepped straight out of hell.
His dark eyes swept the room, landing instantly on Tessa. He holstered his weapon and crossed the floor in three long strides, grabbing her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice rough and breathless, his hands frantically checking her arms and face for injuries.
“No... no, I’m okay,” Tessa sobbed, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving her legs weak and trembling. “They... they blew the doors—they were going to—”
“I know,” Victor interrupted, pulling her fiercely against his chest.
The contrast was staggering—surrounded by the ruins of his library and the bodies of his enemies, the most feared mafia boss in America held a twenty-three-year-old former scullery maid as if she were the only fragile thing in the world worth protecting.
“Boss!” Paulie’s voice rang out from the hallway as he jogged into the room, holding an assault rifle, flanked by three surviving enforcers. Paulie stopped short, taking in the bodies on the floor and the sight of Victor holding Tessa. A complicated mix of shock and reluctant acceptance flickered across the enforcer’s rough face.
“The Bratva main assault team has been neutralized in the foyer,” Paulie reported crisply. “Ivan Petrov tried to escape through the courtyard, but sniper team four took out his tires. He’s in cuffs.”
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Victor slowly released Tessa, though his hand remained protective and firm against her lower back. He turned toward Paulie, his face hardening back into stone.
“Drag Petrov down to the Pantheon,” Victor ordered coldly. “Tell him I’ll be down to collect the debt in five minutes.”
