Chapter 7 - The Ghost of the Docks"The Deacon," Ramon said, his voice entirely devoid of fear, carrying only the weight of an executioner pronouncing a sentence. "You look like hell."
"And you look entirely too much like the man who tried to put me there," the Deacon replied, his twisted grin widening as he hefted the heavy machete into a ready stance. "Twenty years at the bottom of the harbor changes a man, Ramon. It gives you focus. It teaches you patience. And most importantly... it teaches you how to wait for the exact moment the bloodline comes back to finish what was started."
"You tracked us here for the girl," Ramon stated, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his Sig Sauer. "You wanted the vault."
"The girl is just a key, Ramon. A biological skeleton key meant to open a door that should never have been unlocked," the Deacon sneered, taking a slow step forward. "Your father built his empire on secrets, blackmail, and stolen blood. But the real treasure isn't money. It's the ledger of every politician, judge, and international power broker who bows to the Ortega name. Hand over the girl, hand over the micro-drive, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let your men die quickly."
"You talk too much for a dead man," Ramon replied coolly.
Before the Deacon could swing his machete, Ramon raised his weapon and fired three rapid shots straight into the concrete floor a foot in front of the Deacon's boots, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust and stone chips.
"Matteo! Flank left!" Ramon shouted, sprinting forward.
The corridor erupted into absolute chaos.
From the side passages, half a dozen masked mercenaries poured out, weapons raised. Matteo opened fire with his submachine gun, suppressing the front wave with blistering precision. Brass casings rained onto the floor in a metallic cascade, pinging against the walls.
The Deacon lunged forward with terrifying speed, ignoring the gunfire as he closed the distance between himself and Ramon. The heavy machete cleaved through the air with a vicious whistle, aiming straight for Ramon's shoulder.
Ramon sidestepped at the last millisecond, catching the flat of the blade with the heavy steel barrel of his pistol, deflecting the blow. The sheer impact jarred his arm, but Ramon used the momentum to slam his elbow directly into the Deacon's scarred jaw.
The Deacon grunted, stumbling back a half-step, but lashed out with a vicious kick that caught Ramon in the ribs, sending him sliding across the slick concrete floor.
"You're slipping, Ortega!" the Deacon roared, raising his blade for a finishing strike.
Suddenly, a barrage of heavy gunfire echoed from the opposite end of the corridor. Victor and a reinforcement unit had broken through from the service elevator, catching the mercenaries in a devastating crossfire. Two mercenaries crumpled instantly, their bodies hitting the floor with heavy thuds.
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The Deacon snarled, realizing the tactical advantage had evaporated. He lowered his blade, cast one venomous, lingering glare at Ramon, and retreated backward into the thick shadows of the unlit ventilation shaft.
"Don't let him get to the sub-basement!" Ramon yelled, scrambling to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs. "He's going after Elena and Maya!"
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