Chapter 9 - The Siege of the Upper East SideThe penthouse was suddenly plunged into darkness as the emergency backup generators kicked in with a low, thrumming hum.
Sirens wailed in the streets far below. The red and blue lights of police cruisers and unmarked enemy vehicles flashing against the glass indicated that Moretti’s final, desperate assault had begun. They had breached the perimeter gate. Dozens of heavily armed mercenaries were swarming up the exterior stairwells and rappel lines, trying to take the tower by force.
"Zora," Viktor said, stepping over to her wheelchair, his voice urgent but entirely steady. "We need to move to the safe room. Now."
"No," Zora said, her eyes locked onto the master security monitors glowing on her desk.
Viktor paused, frowning down at her. "Zora, this isn't a board meeting. There are thirty armed mercenaries storming this floor."
"And we hold all the keys," Zora snapped back, her fingers flying across the master console. With a series of rapid commands, she activated the tower’s architectural defense protocols—protocols she had secretly designed and coded into the building's blueprint three weeks ago, just in case.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG.
Heavy steel blast shutters slammed down over every window and door in the penthouse, sealing them inside an impenetrable titanium box.
"Moretti thinks he can siege us out?" Zora muttered, a fierce, triumphant smile spreading across her face. She hit the final enter key. "Let's cook them."
On the security monitors, they watched in real-time as the automated defensive turret systems hidden in the building's cornices—systems Viktor hadn't even known were fully operational—unleashed non-lethal, high-pressure sonic disrupters and tear gas canisters across the exterior stairwells.
Within three minutes, Moretti’s entire assault force was writhing on the ground outside, coughing, screaming, and clutching their heads in agonizing disorientation.
At the bottom of the tower, Dante Moretti himself, realizing his men had been decimated in seconds, tried to sprint back to his getaway car.
He didn't get far.
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Kaiser, the massive black bloodhound, burst through the courtyard gates like a streak of midnight lightning, tackling Moretti to the asphalt with a bone-crushing impact.
By the time the police arrived, Moretti was pinned beneath a two-hundred-pound bloodhound, weeping for mercy, while Viktor’s private security detail zip-tied his hands behind his back.
