Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
Lena didn't close her eyes.
She saw the muzzle flash bloom from the darkness behind Mrs. Collins before the gunshot even registered in her ears.
A single red dot bloomed on the center of the housekeeper’s forehead. Mrs. Collins’s eyes rolled back, the antique revolver slipping from her limp fingers as she crumpled to the damp stone floor.
Standing in the shadows behind the wine racks, holding a smoking pistol with a silencer attached, was Mikhail. His tactical vest was shredded, blood soaking through his left shoulder, but his posture was rock-solid.
"Traitors die first, Boss," Mikhail said, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the cellar floor. "The foyer is lost. Viktor is down. Carmine Valenti himself just walked through the front doors with twenty men. They’re sweeping the basement levels now."
Adrian stepped over Mrs. Collins’s body without a second glance, grasping Mikhail’s good arm in a tight, warrior’s grip. "Can you make it to the tunnel?"
"I’m staying here to hold the vault door," Mikhail said, a grim, final smile touching his battered face. He produced two heavy tactical grenades from his belt. "I'll give you five minutes. Once you're on the water, blow the charges on the cliff face. Bring the whole damn house down on them."
"Mikhail—" Lena started, her voice breaking.
The hulking Russian bodyguard looked down at her, his eyes surprisingly gentle beneath a mask of soot and blood. "Run, little Helena. Your mother was a good woman. Don't let her sacrifice be for nothing."
Adrian didn't waste time on tragic goodbyes. In the brutal world of the syndicate, loyalty was paid for in blood, and debts were settled in seconds. He grabbed Lena’s hand and pulled her through the heavy iron vault door into the darkness of the subterranean tunnel.
Behind them, the heavy steel door slammed shut, followed by the deep, resonant thud of the internal deadbolts locking in place.
The tunnel was narrow, damp, and freezing cold, carved directly out of the limestone cliffs that bordered Lake Michigan. Water dripped from the jagged ceiling, and the roar of crashing waves grew louder with every frantic step they took.
"Here," Adrian breathed, leading her down a flight of slick stone stairs that terminated in a hidden cavern carved into the water's edge.
Floating in the churning black water was a sleek, matte-black Midnight Express 43-foot offshore powerboat, its twin high-performance engines idling with a deep, muffled rumble. The cavern opened directly into the churning swells of Lake Michigan through an iron water-gate that was slowly grinding upward via an automated chain hoist.
Adrian helped Lena aboard the swaying deck, pushing her down into the passenger bucket seat and strapping the five-point harness across her chest with frantic speed.
"Hold onto this," he said, pressing a rugged military-grade remote detonator into her hands. "When we clear the cliff line by two hundred yards, you press the red toggle. It triggers forty pounds of C-4 planted in the foundation pillars of the mansion. It will collapse the entire east wing into the cellar, burying the tunnel and anyone inside."
"Adrian, you can't blow up your own home!" she cried over the roar of the water.
"It was never a home, Lena," he said, stepping behind the helm and grabbing the dual throttles. His hazel eyes were blazing with cold, lethal resolve. "It was a mausoleum. It's time we laid it to rest."
Before he could push the throttles forward, a heavy iron hatch in the ceiling of the cavern was kicked open.
A burst of assault rifle fire peppered the fiberglass hull of the boat.
Dropping down from the catwalk above, landing heavily on the stern deck, was Don Carmine Valenti himself. The sixty-year-old New York mob boss looked like a silver-haired vulture in a bespoke Italian trench coat, holding a gold-plated semi-automatic pistol.
Beside him, bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead and grinning like a lunatic, dropped Julian.
"End of the line, little brother," Julian sneered, leveling his weapon at Adrian's head. "Did you really think your Russian gorilla could hold off twenty men? You left the boat slip door wide open."
Carmine Valenti stepped forward, his eyes scanning Lena with predatory greed. "Give me the micro-SD card, Helena. Give me the trust codes, and I promise you a very comfortable life in Manhattan. Refuse... and I will have Julian execute your brother in front of you, slowly, before we extract the biometric keys from your severed fingers."
Lena looked at the remote detonator in her hands. Then she looked up into Carmine’s arrogant, wrinkled face.
She felt no fear now. The ghost of her mother, Julianna, seemed to stand beside her in the dark cavern, whispering the words from the tape: Remember what Mommy told you.
"You want my mother’s legacy?" Lena said, her voice cutting through the roar of the surf with absolute clarity.
"Hand it over," Carmine demanded, reaching out a leather-gloved hand.
Lena slowly raised her right hand. Between her fingers was the tiny micro-SD card.
Carmine smiled, stepping closer to the helm. "Good girl. Practical. Just like your—"
Lena closed her fist and shoved the micro-SD card directly into her mouth, swallowing it whole in one smooth, defiant gulp.
May you like
Carmine’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, apoplectic shock. "You crazy little bitch—"
"Adrian, hit it!" Lena screamed, slamming her thumb down onto the red toggle of the remote detonator.
