Chapter 7 - Blood in the Snow
Adrien dropped his phone back into his coat pocket and looked down at Clare. The domestic standoff vanished in a single heartbeat, replaced by the lethal, calculating instincts of a mob boss at war.
“Get your coat,” Adrien commanded.
Clare didn't move. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“This isn't a request, Clare,” Adrien growled, his fingers tightening around her wrist. “The Castellano family just hit our warehouse three blocks from here. They know I’m in this building. Which means they know you’re in this building.”
Clare’s breath hitched. “What?”
“They think you’re my weakness,” Adrien said, his voice dropping into a harsh, deadly whisper. “They think taking you gives them leverage over my shipping routes. You’re no longer safe in this apartment, and neither am I.”
Before she could argue, the front windows of the building shattered inward in a shower of glass and jagged wood.
Gunshots cracked through the cold night air, the muffled thump-thump of silenced pistols echoing up the stairwell. Heavy boots slammed against the wooden steps outside their door.
“Down!” Adrien roared.
He shoved Clare behind the heavy oak folding table just as a volley of submachine-gun fire ripped through the thin drywall of the apartment, sending plaster dust and splinters raining down over their heads.
Clare covered her head, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The quiet, peaceful life she had spent two months building was instantly shredded by the violent underworld she had tried so desperately to leave behind.
Adrien didn't panic. He moved with the terrifying efficiency of a man who had survived three decades of urban warfare.
He drew a suppressed Sig Sauer P226 from a concealed holster beneath his coat, his gray eyes cold and focused. He didn't look like a billionaire CEO anymore; he looked like the apex predator of the New York underworld.
“Stay behind this table,” Adrien ordered, his voice brooking no argument. “If anyone comes through that door who isn't Marcus, you put a bullet in their chest. Do you understand?”
“Adrien—”
“Do you understand, Clare?!”
“Yes!” she gasped, her hands shaking as she took the heavy steel pistol he shoved into her palm.
Adrien stood up from behind the barricade just as the door hinges exploded inward under the force of a heavy kick. Two men in black tactical gear surged through the smoking frame, automatic weapons raised.
Adrien fired twice.
The first enforcer dropped instantly, a clean red hole between his eyes. The second managed to fire a wild burst into the ceiling before Adrien’s third round took him in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him crashing against the kitchen counter.
Silence fell over the apartment, broken only by the hiss of the radiator and the sound of smoke detectors beginning to chirp in the hallway.
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Adrien didn't hesitate. He kicked the shattered door completely off its frame, glanced down the smoky stairwell, and turned back to Clare.
“Come on,” he said, extending a blood-stained hand. “We’re moving.”
