Chapter 67
"You are arrogant, Castalano," Volkov sneered, stepping fully into the foyer, entirely unfazed by the weapons trained on him. "You think you defeated the Vanguard. You merely crushed the corporate bureaucracy. We are the military muscle they sought to control. We do not negotiate. We conquer."
"You are standing on a floor soaked in the blood of men who thought the exact same thing," Vincent replied smoothly, his gray eyes devoid of any emotion.
"We are not here for your territory," Volkov stated, pacing slowly. "We are here for the child. The boy, Luca. He carries the biometric key to the offshore contingency accounts we require to fund our global operations. Surrender him, and we will leave this city."
Vincent’s blood turned to absolute ice. They didn't want his empire. They wanted his son.
"You will never touch him," Vincent whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum of apocalyptic wrath.
"Then we will tear this mansion apart brick by brick," Volkov promised.
He raised his heavy sniper rifle, but he didn't aim at Vincent. He aimed at the massive, ornate crystal chandelier suspended directly above the center of the foyer, where Silas and a squad of ghost guards were taking cover.
Vincent realized his intent a fraction of a second too late.
"Silas, move!" Vincent roared.
Volkov fired. The high-caliber, explosive round struck the heavy brass chain holding the chandelier. The chain shattered violently.
The massive crystal fixture plummeted from the ceiling, crashing down onto the marble floor with a catastrophic, deafening explosion of glass and metal.
Silas dove out of the way, but several guards were caught in the crushing impact, incapacitated instantly.
The distraction was flawless.
"Breach the lower levels!" Volkov shouted to his men, using the chaos to surge past Vincent’s defensive line.
A squad of ten elite Leviathan operatives sprinted toward the main stairwell leading to the subterranean bunker.
"No!" Vincent bellowed, abandoning his cover and charging after them.
He fired wildly, dropping two operatives on the stairs, but the remaining eight reached the basement level. They were highly coordinated, moving with terrifying speed toward the heavy steel blast doors of the panic room.
Vincent leaped down the stairs, his tactical knife drawn, engaging the rear guard in brutal, close-quarters combat. He drove the blade into the man's neck, kicking the falling body aside.
But he was too late.
The lead operative slapped a massive, shaped thermal breaching charge directly onto the biometric locking mechanism of the panic room door.
"Blowing the lock!" the operative yelled.
Vincent sprinted down the concrete corridor, desperate to close the distance, but the explosion threw him violently backward.
The concussive shockwave shattered the locking mechanism, blowing the heavy steel doors slightly ajar. Thick, white smoke poured out of the panic room.
"Secure the targets!" Volkov commanded, descending the stairs behind Vincent.
The operatives rushed into the smoke-filled room.
Vincent scrambled to his feet, terror gripping his heart. He raised his weapon, charging into the room, ready to slaughter every man inside to protect his family.
But as he burst through the doors, he froze.
The panic room was empty.
The plush sofa, the emergency supplies, the cots—everything was untouched. But Clara, Luca, and baby Aurora were nowhere to be found.
"Where are they?!" Volkov shrieked, stepping into the room behind Vincent, his aristocratic composure shattering into sheer panic.
Vincent looked at the blank, concrete wall at the back of the room. A slow, dark, terrifying smile touched his lips. He understood immediately.
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Clara hadn't waited in the dark to be rescued. The brilliant, fierce Matriarch of the Moretti empire had utilized the secondary, hidden escape tunnel Vincent had built explicitly for this absolute worst-case scenario.
"You missed," Vincent whispered, turning slowly to face Volkov, raising his weapon. "And now, you are trapped in a basement with me."
