Chapter 6 - A Deadly Trap
Marius didn't panic. The calm that settled over his features was more frightening than any shout or swear could ever be. He set the receiver down, took my face in both hands, and kissed me once, hard and fierce on the mouth.
""Stay behind me,"" he ordered, pulling a concealed Glock from a holster hidden beneath the edge of the credenza. ""And whatever happens, you do not leave this room.""
""Marius, they have automatic weapons if they came for an extraction!"" I grabbed his forearm, terror surging through me—not for myself, but for him.
""This building was designed by military engineers, Elena,"" he said, racking the slide of the weapon with a sharp, metallic click. ""They think they are hunters entering an office. They are about to learn they walked into a slaughterhouse.""
He moved to the wall panel beside the fireplace and tapped a biometric code. Heavy titanium shutters rolled down over the panoramic glass windows with a series of dull, resonant thuds, sealing the penthouse from any outside sniper vantage. The soft amber lighting switched to low-intensity tactical red, casting long, dramatic shadows across the dark floorboards.
From the hallway outside the double doors came the muted rattle of suppressed gunfire, followed by the heavy crash of the outer security vestibule giving way.
""Dimitri has them funneled into the service corridor,"" Marius said, his voice flat and analytical. He picked up a second firearm from the drawer—a sleek, compact Beretta—and pressed it into my hands. ""Do you remember the firing range in Montenegro?""
""Yes,"" I said, my fingers wrapping instinctively around the textured grip, the cold metal grounding my trembling hands.
""Safety off. Keep two hands on the grip. If anyone enters that doorway who isn't me or Dimitri, you empty the magazine into their chest. Do you understand me?""
""Yes.""
The heavy oak doors exploded inward with a splintering roar.
Two men in black tactical gear burst into the foyer, assault rifles raised. Marius didn't wait. He stepped out from behind the marble partition with terrifying speed, firing three consecutive double-taps. The concussive blasts in the enclosed room were deafening. Both intruders collapsed instantly, their weapons clattering harmlessly against the polished floorboards.
A third man lunged from the smoke, lunging toward Marius with a combat knife, catching him off balance as they crashed against the side table. The crystal glasses shattered, amber liquid splashing across the floor.
""Marius!"" I screamed.
The assassin was younger, heavier, using his momentum to pin Marius’s gun arm against the floor while raising the blade. Marius blocked the descending wrist with his left forearm, the steel blade inches from his throat, veins bulging along his neck as the two men locked in a brutal test of strength.
I didn't think. The three years of fear, the hours of target practice, the sudden, fierce realization that I could not exist in a world where this man did not breathe—everything condensed into a single second of absolute clarity.
I raised the Beretta with both hands, took a step forward, aligned the front sight post with the attacker's exposed shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked through the room.
The man screamed, his grip failing as the bullet tore through his shoulder muscle. Marius seized the opening instantly. With a savage twist, he threw the attacker off him, drew his backup blade from his boot, and ended the struggle with one swift, merciless strike to the man's throat.
The room fell abruptly silent, save for the hum of the red emergency lights and the sound of my ragged gasps.
Marius rose slowly, wiping a smear of blood from his cheekbone. He looked at the fallen assassin, then slowly raised his eyes to me. I was still standing in my emerald silk dress, the smoking Beretta held firmly in my hands, trembling violently as the adrenaline crashed over me.
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He walked over to me, took the gun gently from my frozen fingers, and set it on the mantelpiece. Then, without a word, he pulled me roughly into his chest, burying his face into my hair as his arms locked around me like iron bands.
""Good girl,"" he whispered, his own heart pounding furiously against my cheek. ""My brave, beautiful girl.""
