Chapter 14 - War in the HallwaysThe lights in the mansion flickered once, twice, and then went pitch black.
Emergency red backup strips illuminated the long, vaulted corridors with a bloody, pulsing glow. The air grew freezing cold as the central climate control system was overridden from the outside.
Dante led the way down the grand staircase, his movements completely silent, a shadow melting into shadows. I followed directly behind him, the pistol clutched in my sweating palms, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Marco and Lukas were secured safely in the reinforced panic room below, but the rest of the estate was a hunting ground.
Clink.
The sound of a boot hitting a marble floor echoed from the east wing gallery.
Dante raised a hand, signaling me to stop. He pressed his back against the wall beside a massive oil painting of past Moretti patriarchs. He counted down with three fingers, then two, then one—and lunged around the corner.
Two muffled, suppressed shots cracked through the silence.
A heavy thud shook the floorboards. Dante dragged the limp body of a masked operative into the shadows, his face carved from stone.
"Two down. Four left," Dante whispered, checking his magazine.
Suddenly, the glass ceiling of the grand atrium shattered inward with an explosive crash. Shards of glass rained down like jagged diamonds. Two operatives dropped from the skylight on heavy rappelling lines, landing directly in the center of the foyer just ten feet ahead of us.
"Moretti!" one of them barked, raising an automatic rifle.
I didn't think. My instincts completely bypassed my brain. I stepped out from behind Dante, raised the Glock, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The kick of the gun rattled my entire arm. The bullet caught the lead operative square in the shoulder plating, spinning him off balance. Before he could recover, Dante’s rifle barked twice, dropping both intruders to the polished marble floor.
I stood there, breathing heavily, smoke curling from the barrel of my gun. My hands were shaking, but my heart was steady.
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"Not bad for a waitress," Dante murmured, a grim smirk touching his lips as he pulled me behind a marble pillar just as a hail of return fire chewed through the wall above our heads.
"I told you," I whispered back, adrenaline singing in my veins. "Quiet lives are overrated."
