Chapter 2 - The Siege of Vance TowerBefore I could process the weight of Elias’s last words, the penthouse’s heavy steel-reinforced security doors shuddered under a massive impact.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alarms wailed through the luxury suite. Red emergency lights began to pulse along the baseboards, casting long, crimson shadows across the minimalist furniture.
Elias didn't flinch. He didn’t even raise his voice. He simply reached behind his tailored vest and pulled out a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol, checking the magazine with practiced, lethal efficiency.
“Stay in the safe room behind the master closet,” Elias commanded, motioning to a disguised panel in the wall. “Lock it from the inside. Do not open it for anyone—not even if you hear my voice, unless I give the specific passphrase: ‘The snow melts in spring.’”
“Elias, there are too many of them—!” I cried out, clutching my babies as gunfire suddenly shattered the outer glass balcony doors. Shards of safety glass rained onto the hardwood floors like deadly diamonds.
“Ava,” Elias cut me off, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned right through my soul. “Look at me. I built this empire out of blood and ash. I do not lose wars in my own home. Go.”
I scrambled backward into the hidden panic room just as heavy boots thundered into the bedroom.
Through the narrow one-way digital monitor built into the panic room wall, I watched in absolute shock. Elias stood alone in the center of the devastated bedroom, his coat discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal corded muscles and old, jagged scars.
Four masked men clad in tactical black gear breached the room, automatic rifles raised.
“Vance! Hand over the woman and the brats!” the lead mercenary roared.
Elias didn't answer with words. He answered with fire.
In a terrifying display of lethal grace, he ducked beneath a barrage of submachine gun fire, slid across the polished floor, and put two bullets directly into the lead assailant's chest before rolling smoothly behind a heavy marble pillar.
The room erupted into a deafening symphony of gunfire, splintering wood, and shattering stone. Men shouted in panic and pain. Glass shattered; blood sprayed across the pristine white walls. Within forty-five seconds, three of the mercenaries lay motionless on the floor.
The last surviving gunman dropped his weapon, backing away in sheer horror as Elias stepped out from the smoke, his pistol pressed firmly against the man's forehead.
“Who sent you?” Elias’s voice was as cold as the New York winter outside.
“D-Dante Moretti... he wants the girls—!” the mercenary choked out, trembling violently.
Elias didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
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The body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.
Elias slowly lowered his smoking gun, turned toward the panic room wall where I was hiding, and whispered directly into the hidden microphone: “The storm has only just begun, Ava. Pack a bag. We’re moving to the fortress upstate.”
