Chapter 6 - The Descent into HellThe service elevator shaft smelled of old oil, damp concrete, and burnt copper wiring.
The cage rattled violently as Mateo operated the manual winch, dropping them down through the core of the Hail Tower at a breakneck speed that felt more like a freefall. Above them, muffled explosions echoed through the concrete structure—the sound of the Bratva and the Ashford enforcers colliding in a turf war on the upper floors, turning Garrett's multi-million-dollar skyscraper into a vertical killing zone.
Mave stood in the corner of the rattling cage, one arm wrapped protectively around a sleeping, exhausted Posie, her other hand gripping Garrett’s forearm so tightly her fingernails dug into his skin.
"If we get out of this," Mave whispered over the screech of the metal cables, her eyes fixed on his face in the dim amber light of the emergency bulb, "what happens then? Do you put us back in a cage? Do you marry your Ashford bride after the dust settles?"
Garrett looked down at her. The harsh shadows of the descending shaft cut across his sharp jawline, making him look less like a man and more like a monument carved from granite.
"There is no Ashford bride, Mave," he said, his voice steady and low. "There is no treaty. There is no empire left if it doesn't include you and that little girl in my arms. When we get to the garage, my bulletproof sedan is waiting. We’re driving straight to the private airstrip in Teterboro. My plane is fueled for Geneva."
Mave stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of the ruthless, calculating monster she had spent three years running from. All she found was a raw, bleeding vulnerability that terrified her more than any gun.
"You're giving it all up?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Everything you built? Your ports, your syndicates, your power?"
"It was never power," Garrett said softly, his thumb tracing the back of her cold hand. "It was just a very large cage I built while I was waiting for the only thing that mattered to come back."
CLANG.
The elevator came to a bone-jarring halt at the basement level.
Mateo immediately threw himself against the heavy iron gate, shoving it open with his shoulder. The underground parking garage was vast, dim, and choked with exhaust fumes. Rows of luxury cars sat abandoned in the shadows, their alarms blinking silently in the gloom.
"Clear," Mateo hissed, stepping out with his MP5 raised, scanning the rows of concrete pillars.
They moved quickly toward the far corner where Garrett’s personal armored Maybach sat idling, its engine purring like a caged panther.
Suddenly, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered and died, plunging the garage into pitch blackness.
"Ambush!" Mateo roared.
From behind three concrete pillars, blinding white tactical flashlights snapped on simultaneously, pinning them in a harsh, glaring cone of light. A hail of submachine gun fire chewed up the concrete around their feet, sending sparks flying into the air.
"Get down!" Garrett shoved Mave and the child behind the heavy engine block of a parked SUV, drawing his Sig Sauer and returning fire with cold, clinical precision.
Two Bratva enforcers crumpled behind a pillar, but more were pouring out from the stairwell exit—and flanking them from the opposite side were Vincent Ashford’s men, led by a scarred enforcer carrying a Remington shotgun.
"We're caught in a crossfire!" Mateo yelled, taking a round through his tactical vest and dropping to one knee with a sharp grunt of pain. "Boss, we're not making it to the car!"
Garrett calculated the angles in a split second. Eight men. Two flanks. No cover on the left.
He looked back at Mave. She was huddled on the oily concrete, shielding Posie with her entire body, looking up at him with a calm, heartbreaking acceptance that broke something final inside his chest.
"Mave," he said quietly, pulling a heavy tactical key fob from his pocket and tossing it across the floor to her. "Take the child. Run through the drainage tunnel behind the utility door. It leads straight to the subway line two blocks over."
May you like
"And you?" she screamed over the deafening roar of automatic gunfire. "Garrett, no! I didn't run for three years just to watch you die in a parking garage!"
"I'm not dying today," he said, a cold, lethal smile touching his lips as he cocked his weapon and stepped out from behind the SUV into the glare of the flashlights. "I'm just clearing the road."
