Chapter 8 - Tên Chapter 8: The Cornered Wolf
Daniel reacted in a fraction of a second.
With a roar, he tackled me out of the chair, shielding my body with his broad frame just as three silenced rounds shredded the mahogany desk where I had been sitting seconds before.
"Vincenzo!" Daniel barked through the comm-link on his wrist, dragging me behind a reinforced marble fireplace. "Breach on the north terrace! Lockdown protocol Alpha!"
Alarms blared through the penthouse as red emergency lights bathed the room in a bloody glow. Heavy steel shutters dropped over the windows with thunderous clangs. Down the corridor, the sharp, rhythmic crack of suppressed gunfire echoed through the residence.
I was trembling violently, clutching Daniel’s lapels. "Daniel... what is happening?"
"A desperate man making his final mistake," Daniel replied coldly. His eyes were no longer those of the cultured gentleman who quoted poetry; they were blazing with the lethal, calculating fury of a warlord whose sanctuary had been invaded.
He drew a custom black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, checked the chamber with a single smooth click, and looked down at me.
"Stay behind this marble pillar. Do not move until Vincenzo comes for you. Understand me, Emily?"
"Daniel, please don't get hurt," I cried softly, my hand gripping his wrist.
He paused. For a brief second, the hardened mask cracked, and he pressed a fierce, lingering kiss against my forehead. "No one harms what belongs to me."
He rounded the corner with ruthless speed.
Through the gaps in the marble, I heard the chaotic sounds of a violent confrontation: heavy thuds, shattering glass, and then a familiar, terrified scream.
Minutes later, the gunfire ceased entirely. Vincenzo appeared at the end of the hall, his jacket torn but unharmed, signaling to two armed guards.
"Ms. Carter, the premises are secure," Vincenzo said with a respectful bow. "Mr. Brooks requests your presence in the courtyard."
My legs felt like lead as I walked out onto the grand stone terrace. The rain poured down from the black Boston sky, illuminated by searchlights.
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Lying on the wet flagstones, pinned down by two burly guards with zip-ties around his wrists, was Jason Miller. Beside him, trembling in handcuffs, was Councilman Harrison Vance's corrupt chief of security.
Jason looked up at me, his face bruised and covered in rain. "Emily! Tell him to let me go! I was just trying to get leverage! Vance promised me five hundred thousand dollars if I stole the ledger from his safe!"
