Chapter 5 - The Siege in the Snow
By 2:00 AM, the blizzard had blanketed northern Ohio in eight inches of blinding white powder. Inside the private wing, the silence was shattered by the sharp crack of suppressed gunfire echoing from the stairwell.
Dominic was on his feet before the second echo died away. He drew his custom Kimber 1911 from his shoulder holster, his eyes darting toward Elena’s bed. She was still under heavy sedation, her face pale, completely unaware of the approaching violence.
His lieutenant, Marco, burst through the waiting room doors, clutching a bleeding shoulder. ""Boss! Two vans just breached the underground parking gate! Chicago plates! They bypassed the perimeter—they must have had Luca’s security access codes!""
""How many?"" Dominic asked, his pulse steadying into ice-cold focus.
""At least a dozen. They're hitting the third-floor corridors now.""
""Lock down Elena's room,"" Dominic commanded. ""Dr. Vance, get behind the reinforced steel workstation. If anyone comes through that door who isn't wearing a Rainer syndicate pin, put two rounds into his chest.""
Dominic stepped out into the hallway, slamming the heavy reinforced door shut behind him. He wasn't going to let them bring the fight into his wife's sanctuary. This hospital wing was her sanctuary, bought with her blood, and anyone who threatened her recovery would die in the snow outside.
The hallway lights flickered and went out as the emergency generators kicked in, casting the corridor in an eerie, pulsing red emergency glow. Footsteps pounded against the linoleum.
Three men in tactical gear rounded the corner, carbines raised. Dominic didn't wait. He stepped out from an alcove, firing three rapid double-taps. Two men dropped instantly, their armor failing against heavy-caliber hollow points. The third scrambled behind a laundry cart, spraying automatic fire that chewed through the drywall and sent plaster raining down like indoor snow.
Dominic moved with the ruthless economy of an apex predator. He flanked the cart, driving the butt of his weapon into the attacker's throat, snatching the discarded carbine before the body hit the floor.
More footsteps surged up the emergency stairs. It was an all-out extermination squad, sent to finish what the hit-and-run six months ago had failed to accomplish. Luca had known his life was forfeited the moment Dominic let him live; the traitor had emptied his offshore accounts to hire every desperate gun from Detroit to Chicago.
For fifteen minutes, the third floor of the hospital turned into a slaughterhouse. Dominic fought like a man possessed, driven by an elemental rage that eclipsed any sense of self-preservation. When his ammunition ran dry, he used his bare hands and the heavy steel barrel of his empty pistol, tearing through the assault team with terrifying, unrelenting savagery.
When the smoke finally cleared, seven hitmen lay dead across the crimson-stained linoleum. The rest had fled down the fire escapes into the howling blizzard.
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Dominic stood in the red-lit hallway, his tailored suit torn, his knuckles split and bleeding, breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath. He tossed the empty weapon aside, turned around, and walked back into Elena's room.
He washed the soot and blood from his hands in the ensuite sink, straightened his torn collar, and sat back down in the chair beside her bed just as her eyelashes began to flutter.
