Chapter 6 - The Secret Clinic
The night shattered the moment our boots slammed onto the heavy cedar shingles of the lodge roof. Suppressed gunfire hissed through the pine trees like angry serpents as Marco’s sniper detail picked off the perimeter guards before they could raise an alarm.
""Breaching roof hatch in three, two, one!"" Dante shouted.
The explosive charge cracked with a muffled pop, blowing the heavy iron door inward. We dropped through the smoke into the upper corridor like ghosts clad in black Kevlar.
Inside, the compound was not a rustic cabin at all; it was a sterile, reinforced concrete bunker wrapped in decorative pine veneers. Alarms began to blare, crimson emergency lights strobing along the white hallways. Three heavily armed mercenaries rounded the corner, raising automatic weapons, but my rifle spoke three times before they could clear leather. They dropped hard against the linoleum.
""Clear!"" Marco roared, clearing the rooms on the left.
""Clear!"" Dante echoed from the right.
""Find the basement access!"" I barked, my heart thumping violently against my ribs. ""Dante, what's the timer?""
""Eleven-thirty-one! Fourteen minutes until the fail-safe triggers!""
We tore through the central hallway toward the eastern wing. Behind a hidden bookcase lined with leather-bound volumes, we discovered a reinforced bank-vault door. A digital keypad flashed red on the console.
""Dante! Get that door open!""
Dante slapped the decryption device onto the panel, running Vincent's bypass codes through the interface. ""It's asking for a secondary master key! Salieri must have added his own failsafe!""
""Blow it!"" I shouted.
""We can't, Boss! The door is lined with C4 countermeasures! If we use explosives on the hinges, it will trigger the thermite in the foundation immediately!""
I stared at the electronic screen. Five failed attempts would lock the system and trigger the countdown instantly. The prompt displayed a single question: What was lost in Rome?
My breath hitched. Rome. The city where Vincent had watched me propose to Isabella. The night he claimed she was supposed to be his.
I pushed Dante aside and stepped in front of the console. My fingers flew across the alphanumeric keypad. I didn't type a date or a jewel. I typed the Latin motto inscribed on the engagement ring I had slipped onto Isabella’s finger under the Colosseum’s shadow: AMOR VINCIT OMNIA.
A soft chime echoed down the sterile hallway. The mechanical locks disengaged with heavy, hydraulic clunks. The four-inch steel door swung open.
A blast of cold, antiseptic air poured out of the dark stairwell.
""Dante, hold the stairhead. Marco, watch our flank. No one enters unless it's on my order,"" I said, drawing my sidearm and descending into the abyss.
The stairs led down into a brightly lit, soundproof subterranean medical suite. Heart monitors beeped faintly in the distance. The smell of bleach and iron hung thick in the air.
At the end of the corridor, behind a glass observation wall, lay a solitary hospital bed.
My feet felt heavy, every step echoing like thunder against my ears. I rounded the glass partition and stopped dead.
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Lying on the bed, her wrists lightly secured with soft cloth restraints to an IV drip, was Isabella. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin porcelain-pale, and her rich chestnut hair tumbled across the pillow like spilled silk. She looked so fragile, a delicate sculpture on the verge of breaking.
Hearing my footsteps, she flinched, turning her head away, her voice a cracked, defiant whisper. ""Do what you want, Vincent. Kill me. You'll never have my heart. Dominic will find you... he will avenge me...""
