Chapter 13 - The Crimson Corridor
The red emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows across the stone floor of the gallery. Adrian didn't flinch. He kept his eyes locked on the assassin’s trigger finger, calculating the exact distance, the acoustics of the stone walls, and the reaction time of a man who relied too heavily on his firearm.
“You think you’re the first predator to stand in this hallway?” Adrian said, taking a slow, calculated step to the left, putting a massive marble pillar between himself and the gun barrel.
“You’re out of your depth, Adrian,” the assassin sneered, taking a slow step forward, his boots making no sound on the runner. “The syndicate doesn't care about your money. They care about the tech patents locked in your basement vault. Sign the transfer authorization, and I’ll make your death look like a tragic heart attack—just like your grandfather’s.”
Adrian’s eyes flashed with sudden, lethal clarity. Grandfather. The old man hadn't died of natural causes.
Before the assassin could process the shift in Adrian’s posture, a deep, earth-shaking rumble vibrated through the floorboards beneath them. It wasn't the sound of footsteps. It was the low, resonant roar of a 150-pound Neapolitan mastiff charging through the service lift at the end of the hall.
The heavy steel service door blew outward with a deafening crash as Bruno burst into the gallery like a living battering ram.
The assassin whipped his pistol around, firing wildly into the red gloom. Pop-pop-pop! The suppressed rounds ricocheted off the marble pillars, sending lethal sparks flying into the dark.
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“Get him, Bruno!” Adrian shouted.
The massive dog didn't hesitate. He caught the scent, closed the distance across the thirty yards of gallery floor in less than three seconds, and slammed into the assassin with bone-crushing force, sending the Walther spinning across the polished stone.
