Chapter 19 - THE ABANDONED WARD
The abandoned Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital loomed against the midnight sky like a jagged concrete skeleton, its broken windows staring out over the dark, churning waters of the East River like blind eyes. The air smelled of damp concrete, rust, and decay.
Dante walked through the rusted iron front gates alone, exactly as instructed, his hands raised slightly away from his body, his coat open to show he was carrying no visible firearms—though beneath the wool, his fingers rested firmly on the grips of his concealed weapons. The courtyard was silent, save for the howling autumn wind sweeping off the river.
"I'm here, Julian!" Dante’s voice echoed off the crumbling stone walls. "Show yourself!"
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the darkened portico of the main entrance. Out stepped Julian Vance—a tall, impeccably dressed man in a tailored charcoal trench coat, holding a silver-handled cane in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other. Flanking him were four massive mercenaries in tactical gear, holding Clara between them.
Clara’s hands were bound behind her back with heavy zip-ties, her emerald velvet jacket slightly rumpled, but her chin was held high, her dark eyes flashing with absolute, unyielding defiance. She didn't look terrified; she looked furious.
"Dante, you idiot," Clara snapped the moment she saw him stepping into the moonlight. "I told my driver to take the bypass route! I could have handled these amateurs myself!"
Julian chuckled, stepping closer and pressing the barrel of his suppressed pistol lightly against Clara’s temple. "She truly is something else, Mr. Moretti. Even with a gun to her head, she spent the entire car ride lecturing my men on the poor acoustic design of our safehouse."
Dante’s eyes locked onto Julian with a gaze so lethal it could have frozen fire. "Let her go, Julian. This is between you and me."
"Oh, it is entirely between us," Julian smiled smoothly, his aristocratic features twisting into a cruel sneer. "My brother died because he underestimated you, Dante. He thought you were just a common street thug with money. But I studied you. I know that the only thing in this world that can break Dante Moretti isn't a bullet to the chest—it’s watching the woman he loves burn right in front of him."
Julian pulled back the hammer of his pistol. "Say goodbye to your wife, Moretti."
In that fraction of a second, time seemed to slow down to an absolute crawl.
Dante’s hand flashed beneath his coat with superhuman speed, drawing his Sig Sauer, but before he could pull the trigger, Clara executed a maneuver that left even Julian breathless.
Instead of cowering, Clara stomped her heavy stiletto heel straight down onto the instep of the mercenary holding her right arm, instantly driving her elbow backward into the solar plexus of the guard on her left. As the two men buckled in agony, she whipped her bound hands upward, catching Julian under the chin with her forearm and knocking his pistol off target.
Crack!
The suppressed pistol fired into the concrete floor, missing Clara by an inch.
"Now, Mateo!" Dante roared into his comm-link.
From the shattered windows of the second-story ward above, a deafening volley of suppressed gunfire erupted. Mateo and three of Moretti’s top enforcers rained precise, devastating fire down upon Julian’s mercenaries, dropping all four guards in a matter of seconds before they could even raise their weapons.
Julian stumbled backward, his nose bleeding, dropping his pistol as he stared in absolute horror at the unfolding massacre.
Before Julian could recover, Dante closed the distance across the courtyard in three massive strides, grabbing him by the collar of his trench coat and slamming him hard against the crumbling stone pillar with enough force to crack the masonry.
"You should have stayed in France, Julian," Dante whispered, his voice dangerously low.
Clara walked up calmly behind Dante, using a shard of broken glass from the ground to quickly slice through the zip-ties binding her wrists. She rubbed her sore wrists, walking up to Julian, looking down at him with an expression of supreme artistic disappointment.
"Honestly," Clara sighed, adjusting the collar of her jacket. "Your brother at least had a theatrical flair when he tried to kill us. You’re just sloppy."
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Dante looked down at Julian, then glanced at Clara, a slow, dark, affectionate smile breaking across his face.
"She’s right, Julian," Dante said softly, before delivering a devastating right hook that knocked the French assassin unconscious before he even hit the ground.
