Chapter 18 - The Final StandThe courtyard was a chaotic whiteout of steam, melting snow, and disoriented mercenaries stumbling blindly against the freezing stone walls.
Luca moved like a ghost through the vapor, neutralizing the advancing guards with surgical precision—swift, clean, non-lethal strikes that left them unconscious in the slush.
Suddenly, a massive figure loomed out of the white mist directly in front of him.
Viktor Rostova.
The Bratva boss looked disheveled, his coat torn, a dark fury twisting his scarred face. He held a heavy Sig Sauer pistol aimed straight at Luca’s chest.
"End of the line, Romano," Rostova snarled through the freezing wind. "You and your little waitress."
Before Rostova could pull the trigger, a heavy metallic object whined through the air, spinning end over end through the steam.
CLANG!
The heavy wrench caught Rostova squarely across the wrist, shattering his grip on the pistol. The gun dropped uselessly into the melting snow.
Rostova roared in pain, turning furiously toward the source of the throw.
Standing near the service door, her hands wrapped in heavy leather work gloves, was Emma.
"Leave him alone," Emma said coldly, stepping forward through the steam.
Rostova lunged at her with a tactical knife drawn from his belt. But Luca was already there. In a flash of blinding fury, Luca tackled Rostova into the stone wall, disarming him and driving his fist into the Russian’s jaw with a sickening crack.
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Rostova crumpled into the snow, unconscious.
Sirens wailed in the distance—federal marshals and Chicago PD units, alerted by Elena’s silent panic signal, finally swarming up the access road through the clearing blizzard.
