Chapter 2 - The Shattered Window
The concussion wave threw the heavy velvet curtains into violent motion. Marco drew a suppressed pistol instantly, pivoting toward the double doors as red emergency alarms bathed the luxury penthouse in crimson light. Glass dust drifted from the ornate chandelier hanging overhead.
“North staircase is breached,” Marco shouted over the sudden whine of the estate siren. “Petrov’s hit squad didn't wait for your fever to spike, Boss. They're inside the elevator shaft.”
Roman didn't flinch. He gripped the edge of the carved headboard, his jaw clenched as a fierce tremor rolled through his abdomen. The stitches had torn loose at the lateral margin. Dark blood surged over his left hip, soaking into his trousers. Nora reacted instinctively, dropping the defensive posture to throw her weight beneath his right shoulder before he collapsed.
“Sit down, you idiot,” she snapped, forgetting who he was, her hands automatically grabbing clean sterile packs from the medical tray. “You’ll hemorrhage into your peritoneal cavity within two minutes if your blood pressure spikes like this.”
Roman looked down at her small hands pressing hard against the torn flesh. A grim, humorless smirk curved his lips. “Feisty. The last woman who spoke to me like that is buried beneath the harbor.” Yet he allowed her to ease him back against the pillows, his fingers curling into the sheets as she applied brutal, direct pressure.
“Marco, get the secondary armory unlocked,” Roman commanded through grit teeth. “And fetch the encrypted tablet from the wall safe behind the Klimt painting. If Petrov wants a war inside my home, he pays the entry tax.”
Before Marco could cross the threshold, the bedroom’s outer corridor echoed with rapid bursts of automatic gunfire. The security guards outside went silent with heavy, thudding impacts against the wall. A smoke grenade rolled across the threshold, spewing thick white canisters of sulfur and tear gas.
Nora coughed, tears stinging her vision as she reached for a surgical mask and slapped it over Roman’s nose and mouth. “We can't stay here. You can’t fight like this.”
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Roman grabbed her wrist with terrifying strength, pulling her down until her ear brushed his lips through the haze. “The private elevator in my closet requires a retinal scan. You leave with me, or you die with them.”
Footsteps rushed through the smoke, followed by the metallic click of an assault rifle charging outside the smoke-choked entrance.
