Chapter 8 - The BreachThe double doors swung open with a heavy, ominous creak.
Silence fell over the penthouse so absolute that the hum of the central air conditioning sounded like a jet engine. Standing in the doorway was not a late-arriving senator or a councilman, but a dozen heavily armed men in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by matte-black balaclavas, assault rifles raised and locked forward.
At their head stood Viktor, his face twisted into an ugly, triumphant grin, holding a heavy-caliber sidearm aimed directly at Enzo Dante's chest.
"Party's over, Enzo," Viktor barked, his voice echoing off the marble walls. The guests began to scatter in absolute panic, screaming and diving behind couches and mahogany tables, dropping champagne flutes that shattered into a million glittering shards.
Lucas and the penthouse security detail reached for their weapons, but three red laser dots instantly danced across their chests from the hallway outside.
"Don't even think about it, Lucas," Viktor sneered. "The entire building is locked down. Jammers on every floor. No cell service, no police dispatch, no way out. The council decided tonight is the night the Dante syndicate gets a new CEO."
Enzo didn't flinch. He didn't drop his champagne glass. He simply took one final, unhurried sip, set the flute down on a nearby silver table, and looked at Viktor with eyes as cold and dead as winter stone.
"You overestimate your authority, Viktor," Enzo said, his voice entirely steady. "And you severely underestimate my precautions."
"Your precautions are locked in a cage down the hall," Viktor laughed darkly. "And by midnight, you'll be feeding the fish in the East River right alongside them."
Emily stood frozen behind the service table, her tray slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the floor. Her heart slammed against her ribs. They weren't just after Enzo—they were going to purge the entire penthouse. Nobody was walking out of here alive.
As Viktor stepped forward, his finger tightening on the trigger of his sidearm, a sudden, earth-shattering crash echoed from the private east wing down the hall.
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Bang. Crash. Splintering wood.
The heavy steel-reinforced doors of the east wing didn't just open—they blew inward, tearing off their hinges with a shriek of tortured metal.
