Chapter 4 - The Severed Hand
Nikolai rammed his shoulder into the heavy manual override lever of the bunker door, wrenching the steel gears open just enough to slip through. Gasping for uncontaminated air in the concrete corridor, he wiped the stinging powder from his eyes and spun around, gun raised.
Through the drifting haze of the doorway, two men emerged coughing violently—Marco and Elena. Behind them, sprawled half-across the threshold, lay Damian, the lieutenant in charge of cross-border smuggling. A dark pool of arterial blood was already spreading beneath his chest. He was dead before his body hit the floor.
""Viktor!"" Nikolai bellowed, his voice vibrating with predatory menace. ""Where is Viktor?""
""He went up the maintenance shaft!"" Marco coughed out, clutching his throat. ""The moment the gas tripped, he bolted for the ladder!""
Nikolai didn't wait. He sprinted down the narrow concrete tunnel toward the spiral staircase leading to the main house. His heart pounded against his ribs, not with fear, but with cold, calculating adrenaline. Mia was alone up there with only Clara and a perimeter team whose radio frequencies were evidently compromised. Every second wasted was a step closer to catastrophe.
He burst through the secret panel behind the library bookcase on the ground floor. The mansion was eerily quiet. The opulent chandeliers were off, replaced by the pale glow of the moon filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Shattered vases and overturned side tables indicated that a scuffle had already occurred on the main level.
As he reached the foot of the sweeping staircase, a figure dropped from the balustrade above, landing with feline grace on the Persian rug. It was Viktor. His jacket was torn, blood dripping freely from a deep gash along his forearm, his weapon raised straight at Nikolai’s chest.
""Don't take another step, Boss,"" Viktor warned, panting heavily.
""You took an oath, Viktor,"" Nikolai said, his gun steady, aimed directly between his lieutenant's eyes. ""I pulled you out of the gutter in Prague. I gave you a family.""
""You gave me a leash!"" Viktor spat. ""And you blinded yourself to the rot in this house! You think this is about me? Look behind you, Nikolai!""
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A floorboard creaked softly at the top of the grand staircase. Nikolai kept his peripheral vision wide. A woman’s figure emerged from the darkness of the upper balcony. It wasn't Clara. Standing above them, holding a suppressed automatic pistol, was a woman whose presence turned Nikolai’s veins to liquid ice.
It was Sarah—Mia’s mother, the woman Nikolai had buried four years ago.
