Chapter 6 - The Siege of Ashford HouseThe fallout from the gala was immediate and violent. By midnight, the city of Chicago was a powder keg. Salvatore Moretti, humiliated in front of the entire underworld elite, launched a full-scale assault on the Ashford estate.
Sirens wailed in the distance as armored vehicles breached the front gates, spraying automatic gunfire across the manicured lawns. Glass shattered in the grand foyer as heavy artillery rained down on the fortress.
Inside the panic room of the east wing, Isla frantically opened her trauma kits, laying out scalpels, sutures, and plasma bags. Marco sat huddled in the corner, clutching a teddy bear, his face pale with terror.
"Isla, are we going to die?" Marco whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Isla knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Look at me, Marco. Listen to me. Nothing is going to happen to you. I am right here, and Dominic's men are holding the perimeter. We are safe."
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the panic room shuddered under a massive blow. Someone was using explosives on the outer latch.
The door burst inward in a cloud of smoke and splintered steel.
Two Syndicate mercenaries stormed through the breach, their assault rifles raised, scanning the dark room.
Before they could spot Marco in the corner, Isla moved with blinding speed. She grabbed a heavy oxygen tank from the medical cart and hurled it straight into the chest of the first mercenary, knocking him backward. As the second guard swung his rifle toward her, a deafening roar echoed through the room.
Bang. Bang.
Two precise gunshots pierced the smoke. The second mercenary dropped instantly, lifeless.
Dominic stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his dark coat smoking, blood soaking through his shirt where his wounds had torn open once again. His face was a mask of cold, unrelenting fury. He looked like an angel of death carved from stone.
"Are you hurt?" Dominic demanded, his eyes frantically scanning Isla and Marco.
May you like
"We're fine!" Isla shouted over the ringing alarms. "But you're bleeding! Your stitches—"
"I don't give a damn about my stitches!" Dominic roared, stepping into the room and pulling both of them behind his broad frame as more footsteps echoed down the corridor. "Carter, secure the emergency chopper on the roof! We're burning the estate down."
