Chapter 7 - Smoke and LeadThe garage filled instantly with thick, choking white smoke and the deafening roar of automatic gunfire.
"Down!" Luca screamed, tackling Emma behind a concrete structural pillar just as a hail of bullets chipped jagged craters into the stone inches from their heads.
Through the haze of smoke, dark figures in tactical gear poured through the breached garage entrance, firing methodically as they advanced.
Enzo and Elena were already returning fire from behind a parked armored transport, their suppressors spitting rhythmic flashes of red light. Two of Rostova’s men dropped instantly, clutching their chests.
"Luca!" Emma yelled over the din of battle, grabbing his arm. Her eyes were wide, scanning the destroyed vehicles around them. "The old fuel tanker! The one they drained for parts in the corner!"
Luca blinked, tracking her gaze to a rusted, decommissioned fuel truck sitting against the far wall. "What about it?"
"The auxiliary line is still full of raw aviation fuel! If we puncture the main feed and spark it with the battery pack from your sedan—"
"Are you insane?! That'll level the entire sub-level!"
"Do you want to die here, or do you want to win?!" Emma screamed, her voice cutting through the gunfire with absolute authority.
Luca stared at her for a fraction of a second. Then, a wild, reckless grin spread across his face—the same expression he had worn when she ordered him out of her workspace in the rain.
"Cover me!" Luca yelled to Enzo.
Enzo didn't hesitate, laying down a blistering wall of suppressive fire that forced the advancing Bratva soldiers to dive behind cover.
Luca sprinted toward the rusted fuel truck, pulling his heavy combat knife from his belt. He slammed the blade into the rubber fuel line, and a thick, pungent stream of high-octane aviation fuel sprayed across the concrete floor, pooling toward the advancing mercenaries.
"Emma! Give me the wrench!" Luca roared.
Emma didn't hesitate. She whipped her father’s heavy silver wrench out of her pocket and hurled it across the garage like a baseball.
Luca caught it out of the air, smashed the heavy metal end against the exposed live battery terminals of the wrecked sedan, and hurled a shower of electric sparks directly into the pool of fuel.
WHOOSH!
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A wall of roaring, blinding orange fire erupted across the garage floor, instantly swallowing the advancing hit squad in a towering inferno of heat and concussive shockwaves.
"MOVE!" Luca grabbed Emma around the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and bolted toward the private elevator just as the ceiling began to rain concrete debris.
