Chapter 18 - The Phantom Protocol
My blood turned to ice, but my training refused to let panic show on my face.
"Mateo," I whispered into the high-frequency micro-comm hidden in my ear canal, shielding my mouth behind the movement of adjusting my diamond earring. "Status on the Solarium. Now."
There was a burst of static, followed by Mateo’s calm, steady voice. "Estate is green, Chief. Perimeter sensors active. Signora Elena is currently in the library playing chess with Father Thomas. All interior cameras are functioning."
I looked directly into Julian’s mocking eyes.
He wasn't bluffing about an attack; he was staging a diversion. A classic feint.
"Your intel is bad, Julian," I said coolly, taking a sip from a passing waiter's water glass without breaking eye contact. "You expected us to rush out of here in a panic, breaking our security bubble and causing an armed scene on Michigan Avenue. You wanted the federal marshals stationed outside to intercept Luca’s convoy while you slipped away."
Julian’s smile tightened at the edges. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched.
"She’s clever, Luca," Julian murmured, recovering quickly. "No wonder you keep her close. But cleverness doesn't stop gravity."
Suddenly, the ballroom’s massive crystal chandeliers flickered once, twice, and completely died.
The room plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Screams erupted instantly as socialites panicked, champagne flutes shattering against the marble floor. In the darkness, the heavy, rhythmic thuds of silenced gunfire echoed from the high balcony.
"Down!" Luca roared, his arm instantly wrapping around my waist, pulling me down behind a marble pillar just as a spray of automatic rounds carved chunks out of the stone above our heads.
In the dark, I didn't reach for cover; I reached for my thigh.
My hand found the slit of my dress, sliding the ceramic blade free, while my other hand flipped the thermal contact lens switch integrated into my right eyelid—a piece of cutting-edge tech we had installed in the tower’s armory only last week.
The pitch-black room exploded into shades of heat and shadow.
Through the green-tinted thermal view, I saw three shooters dropping from the mezzanine ropes, their suppressed submachine guns aimed squarely at the pillar where Luca and I were sheltered.
"Three bogies, twelve o’clock, descending," I snapped to Luca.
Without hesitation, Luca drew his concealed Glock, trusting my call blindly. He leaned around the pillar, firing three precise double-taps into the darkness.
Three heavy bodies slammed into the parquet floor with dull, sickening thuds.
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"Julian is heading for the kitchen exit!" I called out, spotting the distinct bright thermal signature of an ivory jacket moving rapidly toward the service corridor.
"Take him," Luca ordered, reloading his weapon with a crisp, mechanical click. "Dead or alive, Sophie. He doesn't leave this building."
