Chapter 6 - Fire in the Courtyard
-6-
The muffled thud-thud-thud of suppressed gunfire echoed down through the concrete foundations of Belladonna House, vibrating against the soles of our shoes as Vincent and I ascended the spiraling staircase from the sub-vault.
The security feeds displayed on the wall monitors near the top landing showed total chaos in the grand exterior courtyard. Three black SUVs had smashed through the wrought-iron security gates, their headlights cutting blinding beams through the foggy January night. Twelve mercenaries clad in tactical black armor and night-vision gear were pouring out of the vehicles, firing suppressed assault rifles at the reinforced glass doors of the mansion’s main foyer.
“They’re trying to breach the front wings to cut off the mainframe hardlines,” Vincent analyzed grimly, keeping his weapon raised as we reached the ground-floor landing behind the grand ballroom.
The ballroom itself was now completely empty; the terrified guests had been evacuated through the rear service exits hours ago under the protection of our remaining guards. The shattered champagne glasses and spilled red wine from Vivian’s disastrous engagement party still littered the marble floor, now illuminated by the harsh red emergency strobe lights flashing overhead.
“Where is Julian?” I asked, scanning the security monitors. “He wouldn't send mercenaries without coordinating an extraction for himself.”
“He’s hiding in the north wing library, waiting for his private chopper to land on the roof pad,” Vincent said, a dark, predatory smile touching the corner of his mouth. “He thinks he can escape before the federal warrants are processed.”
“Not on my watch,” I said, cocking the slide of my pistol with a sharp, crisp clack.
Vincent nodded approvingly. “Take the eastern corridor. Cut off his route to the roof elevator. I’ll handle the mercenaries in the foyer.”
“Together,” I corrected him, stepping in front of his path. “We finish this together, Vincent. No separating.”
For a second, Vincent looked as though he wanted to argue, to protect me the way he had tried to protect my mother’s legacy all these years. But seeing the unyielding fire in my eyes, he simply exhaled a sharp breath and nodded.
“Together.”
We moved in synchronized silence down the eastern corridor, hugging the dark wood-paneled walls. The sound of shouting and shattering glass grew louder as we approached the grand staircase leading to the upper library levels.
Suddenly, a heavy oak door to our left burst open.
A mercenary in full tactical gear stepped out into the hallway, raising his assault rifle directly toward my chest.
Before his finger could even twitch on the trigger, I raised my pistol and fired twice. Bang-bang! The suppressed rounds caught the mercenary squarely in his ceramic chest plate, the kinetic force dropping him backward onto the carpeted floor with a heavy thud.
Vincent glanced at me with genuine respect. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“You already tried with the engagement party,” I replied smoothly, stepping past the fallen guard. “You barely survived.”
Vincent let out a low chuckle, the tension in the air breaking for a fraction of a second before we reached the double doors of the north wing library.
Through the frosted glass panels, we could see a frantic figure pacing back and forth near the French doors leading to the roof pad.
Julian DeMarco.
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And he wasn't alone.
Standing beside him, holding a small leather briefcase packed with bearer bonds and passport documents, was none other than his weeping, mascara-streaked daughter, Vivian.
