Chapter 6 - Blood and GlassThe heavy steel door of the panic room slammed shut behind them, plunging the small, reinforced chamber into the eerie glow of emergency red LED lights. The sound of distant gunfire echoed through the ventilation shafts of Vane Tower, followed by the shattering of glass and the chaotic blare of alarms.
Clara's back was pressed against the cold concrete wall, her chest heaving. "Who are they? How did they find us so fast?"
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He was crouched by a high-tech wall monitor, tapping rapidly on a glass-paneled console that displayed live security feeds from across the building. On screen, four armed men in tactical gear were blasting through the elevator lobby on the forty-fifth floor, executing security guards with cold efficiency.
"The O'Connor syndicate," Dominic muttered, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "They must have planted a tracking device in my suit jacket before the ambush. They tracked the jacket to this building."
"And you brought it here?!" Clara gasped, panic rising in her throat.
"I needed to draw them out," Dominic said coldly, his eyes flicking to the monitor. "For months, the O'Connors have been probing my shipping lines. They wanted a war. Tonight, they’re going to get one."
Suddenly, the security feed flickered. One of the tactical operatives on screen stepped directly in front of a camera on the forty-eighth floor—only three floors below the penthouse. Through the high-resolution lens, Clara saw the man's face clearly: a scarred cheek, cold dead eyes, and a tattoo of a Celtic cross on his neck.
Dominic froze. For a fraction of a second, the lethal mask slipped, revealing a flash of raw, unfiltered fury.
"Sean," Dominic whispered.
"Who is Sean?" Clara asked, terrified.
"My former lieutenant," Dominic said, standing up and pulling the slide of his Glock back with a sharp, metallic clack. "The man who betrayed me. The man who ordered the hit in the alley."
"You're going out there?" Clara grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with disbelief. "There are four of them, heavily armed, and you're still recovering from a gunshot wound! You'll be killed!"
Dominic looked down at her hand resting on his forearm. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his large, warm hand over hers, his thumb gently brushing her knuckles. The touch was impossibly tender amidst the chaos of war.
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"If I die, Clara, the O'Connors will take this city, and everyone connected to me—including you—will be hunted down and eliminated before dawn," Dominic said softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the alarms. "So pray I come back."
With a swift movement, he pulled away, punched the override button on the panic room door, and slipped out into the darkened corridor of the penthouse, leaving Clara alone in the red-tinted gloom.
