Chapter 13 - Blood in the Penthouse
The formal dinner had been an orchestrated diversion. We discovered the truth twenty minutes after leaving the ballroom, when Marcus escorted us toward the private express elevator reserved for the Plaza's penthouse suites. The hotel’s primary communication lines had been severed, and the emergency staircase alarms were deactivated from the main security console.
"The radio frequencies are dead, Boss," Marcus whispered, his hand wrapped tight around the grip of his sidearm beneath his coat. "Dominic brought more than sixteen operators into the hotel under the guise of an international catering staff. The lobby is compromised."
"Take the back service stairs to the garage," Luca ordered, his movements fluid and precise as he reached inside his tuxedo jacket and drew his custom black semiautomatic pistol. He handed me a compact steel revolver, its grip cold against my shaking palm. "Elena, keep the safety off. If anyone opens a door who isn't Marcus or me, pull the trigger until the cylinder clicks empty."
"Luca, we can't take on an entire tactical team in a luxury hotel," I breathed, panic clawing at my throat as the sharp smell of electrical smoke began to seep through the hallway ceiling vents.
"We aren't staying to fight them in the hallways," Luca answered, his jaw set like carved granite. "Dominic wants my head on a platter to prove his supremacy to the council. He will come to the penthouse himself."
Before we could reach the heavy fire door leading to the stairwell, the drywall beside my ear exploded into a shower of white plaster and splinters. A silenced rifle round tore through the wallpaper, missing my temple by less than two inches.
Luca shoved me hard into the alcove of a linen closet, his broad body immediately shielding mine as four more rounds peppered the wall where we had been standing. He leaned around the corner and fired three rapid, deafening shots down the hall. A heavy thud followed, accompanied by a muffled groan as an operative collapsed against the runner rug.
"Marcus, flank them from the freight elevator!" Luca commanded through the smoke. "Clear the third-floor landing!"
"I'm on it, Boss!" Marcus shouted, already darting down the cross-corridor, drawing the heavy fire of two additional gunmen away from our position.
Luca grabbed my wrist, pulling me through the heavy service door and up the iron spiral staircase toward the roof terrace. Wind roared through the cracked ventilation shaft, freezing our sweat-soaked skin. My gown tore along the hem as I sprinted up the concrete steps, my lungs burning with every desperate breath.
When we burst onto the rooftop landing beneath the starless Manhattan sky, the rain had begun to fall in freezing sheets, plastering my hair to my face. The panoramic view of Central Park stretched out beneath us, a vast sea of blackness bordered by glittering amber streetlamps.
Suddenly, the steel door behind us was kicked off its hinges. Dominic Castiglione stepped onto the wet tar roof, accompanied by three hulking mercenaries holding automatic rifles. Water dripped from Dominic’s slick blonde hair, his face contorted into a wild, manic grin as he aimed a gold-plated revolver directly at Luca's chest.
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"End of the line, Rossi!" Dominic screamed over the howling wind. "Did you really think you could run the East Coast forever? You got soft the day you took a maid into your bed!"
Luca didn't step back. He stepped directly between Dominic's gun and me, raising his weapon with absolute, stone-cold stillness. "A king never runs, Dominic. He just picks the ground where his enemies will be buried."
