Chapter 5 - The Glass Fortress CracksThe world tilted on its axis.
A thunderous blast echoed from the underground parking garage deep below, shaking the entire forty-story skyscraper like a leaf in a hurricane. Windows across the penthouse bowed outward under the immense pressure wave, the reinforced glass groaning in protest.
Alarms wailed instantly—a shrill, automated screech that filled the cavernous luxury suite.
“Get down!” Vincent roared.
In a fraction of a second, he lunged across the floor, tackling Norah behind the solid oak framing of the grand piano just as a second explosion ripped through the building’s primary electrical shaft. The lights flickered and died, plunging the opulent penthouse into emergency red strobe lighting.
Leo materialized from the hallway hallway like a ghost, a submachine gun already raised in his thick hands, his face smeared with soot and drywall dust.
“Boss! Car bomb in the sub-level garage!” Leo shouted over the blaring alarms. “They breached the western security gate! We’ve got armed intruders moving up the private service stairs!”
Vincent’s face transformed into something terrifying. The protective husband evaporated, leaving only the underworld warlord—cold, calculating, and absolutely lethal.
“Marcus,” Vincent spat out, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent. “The old bastard didn’t wait for midnight.”
He turned to Norah, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. She was pale, her hand instinctively pressed against her stomach, but her eyes were clear and completely unafraid.
“Listen to me,” Vincent commanded, his voice absolute. “You stay right here behind this piano. Leo will secure the panic room in the master suite. I’m going to hunt down every last rat that just stepped foot in my home.”
“Vincent, no—” Norah started, grabbing his sleeve.
“I told you I would burn the world down to keep you safe,” he interrupted, pressing a fierce, lingering kiss to her forehead. His lips were warm, his gaze burning with an intensity that defied the chaos around them. “Watch me do it.”
He drew a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from a concealed holster beneath his vest, checked the magazine with a practiced click, and vanished into the swirling red smoke of the hallway.
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Leo grabbed Norah’s arm, lifting her gently to her feet. “Come on, Mrs. Costello. Move fast, stay low.”
As they bolted toward the master suite, the sound of automatic gunfire echoed up the stairwell. The war for New York had just begun, and Vincent Costello was ready to collect his debts.
