Chapter 9 - The Siege of the Penthouse"Stay behind me," Julian ordered, pushing Isabel toward the reinforced panic room built into the back of his study.
"Julian, there are four of them—"
"I don't care if there's an army," Julian interrupted, his voice absolute. "Get in the safe room, lock the biometric scan from the inside, and don't open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?"
Isabel nodded, tears streaming down her face, and ducked into the reinforced chamber just as heavy footsteps echoed down the private hallway.
Julian stepped out into the corridor, raising the pistol with steady hands.
The elevator doors fully parted, and the lead operative stepped out—a massive man with a jagged scar across his cheek and cold, dead eyes. He raised a suppressed submachine gun, but Julian was faster.
Bang.
The shot shattered the overhead glass light fixture, raining sparks down onto the intruder and forcing him to duck behind a marble pillar.
"Julian Mercer!" a voice boomed from the hallway. A second man stepped out—taller, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat that looked entirely out of place in a firefight. Victor Vance. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph as he clapped his hands slowly. "Impressive. The billionaire playboy still knows how to pull a trigger."
"Victor," Julian said coldly, keeping his weapon leveled dead at the man's chest. "You're trespassing in a restricted building. Federal marshals are already five minutes out."
"Let them come," Victor sneered, stepping further into the hall. "I didn't fly across the Atlantic for your corporate toys, Julian. I came for my step-sister and the signature she owes me. Hand over Isabel and the boy, and I might let you bleed out quietly on your own expensive rug."
Julian’s finger tightened on the trigger. A dangerous, cold smile touched his lips. "You stepped into the wrong city, Victor. And you brought a knife to a nuclear war."
Before Victor could raise his weapon, a deafening roar echoed from the master bedroom.
Rex, the golden retriever, burst down the hallway like a golden missile. Driven by fierce protective instinct, the eighty-pound dog slammed directly into the knees of the lead operative, sending the man crashing hard against the marble wall and knocking the submachine gun from his grip.
Julian didn't hesitate. He fired two precise shots into the floor tiles right beside Victor's Bruno Magli shoes, sending splinters of marble flying. "Drop the weapon, or the next one goes through your kneecap."
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Victor froze, staring down at the smoking barrel pointed directly at his heart.
Behind them, the distant wail of police sirens began to echo up from the wet streets of Manhattan, growing louder by the second.
