Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Corridor
The tactical squad moved with textbook precision, their silenced carbines raised, clearing angles as they advanced down the penthouse hallway. They were mercenaries paid millions by the Valenti family—ruthless professionals accustomed to high-value extractions in contested zones. But they were operating on Julian Bell’s home turf, and they had never encountered a father fighting for the survival of his bloodline.
Julian utilized the layout of the penthouse like an invisible ghost. When the lead operative rounded the marble partition, Julian struck from the blind spot behind a structural column. In one swift, brutal motion, he drove the barrel of his sidearm upward under the operative's chin, pulling the trigger once before the man could register his presence.
Before the second mercenary could pivot his weapon, Julian grabbed the dead man’s vest, using his body as a human shield as three rounds thumped harmlessly into the Kevlar. Stepping forward with cold precision, Julian returned fire, dropping two more men with center-mass shots into their unprotected throats.
Suppressed rounds chewed through expensive art, shattering priceless marble sculptures and splintering walnut paneling. But Julian didn't flinch. He retrieved an assault carbine from the fallen operative, adjusted the fire selector to semi-automatic, and advanced through the smoke and drywall dust.
""Clear the floor!"" an accented voice barked in Italian from the end of the hall. ""Fall back to the master bedroom! Grab the woman!""
Hearing those words ignited a volcanic fury within Julian. He broke cover, firing with relentless, deadly accuracy. Every shot found its mark, neutralizing two more operators who attempted to rush the bedroom door.
Suddenly, a blinding flashbang detonated twenty feet ahead.
Julian anticipated the tactic, shutting his eyes and turning his head just before the concussive blast rattled his teeth and filled his ears with a piercing, high-pitched whine. Disoriented but running on pure instinct, he lunged sideways into the doorway of his study just as a spray of heavy caliber bullets shredded the wall where he had been standing.
Through the ringing in his ears, Julian heard the heavy mechanical thud of the panic room door locking shut inside the bedroom. She's sealed in, he thought, breathing heavily as blood dripped from a glass graze along his cheekbone. She’s safe for now.
He checked his magazine. Three rounds left.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his encrypted smartphone. The screen was cracked, but the emergency internal network was operational. He dialed a single internal code that activated the building's halon fire-suppression protocol in the upper corridors—a system designed to starve any fire of oxygen within forty-five seconds.
""Vance,"" Julian spoke into the radio, his voice raspy. ""Put on your oxygen mask.""
From the ceiling vents, thick, suffocating gas began to hiss violently into the corridor. The remaining mercenaries began to choke, dropping their weapons as their lungs desperately sought air. Julian emerged from the study wearing a hidden emergency respirator, stepping over the writhing attackers with absolute indifference.
May you like
He reached the primary stairwell, intending to secure the floor completely. But as he looked down through the spiraling stairs, he saw something that chilled him to the core.
Marcus was gone from the basement vault. The zip-ties lay severed on the floor, covered in blood. And heading up the service elevator was a single override signal, moving directly toward the private suite.
