Chapter 3 - The Shadow Protocol
Glass showered the marble tiles like a hailstorm of diamond needles. Before Dante or his traitorous men could pivot, dark figures clad in night-black tactical gear rappelled through the shattered frames, submachine guns roaring with suppressed, rhythmic bursts. The deafening thud of falling bodies echoed against the high vaulted ceiling as two of Dante’s mercenaries dropped before their weapons could even level.
Dante dove behind an antique sideboard, splintering priceless porcelain as bullet rounds chewed into the mahogany wood. ""Kill him!"" he roared, blind-firing over the furniture toward the head of the table.
Nikolai had already moved. With predator-like agility, he kicked the heavy dining table upward, using its thick oak top as a temporary barricade. Bullets ripped into the polished underside, sending slivers flying through the air. Vanessa screamed in genuine terror this time, crawling desperately across the floor toward Dante’s position, her shimmering dress tearing against shards of broken glass.
Nikolai ignored her. His mind operated with machine-like detachment. He vaulted over the overturned table, his pistol barking three times in rapid, precise succession. A bullet caught the third mercenary in the throat, sending him spinning backward into the pool of wine and blood.
""Regroup!"" Dante bellowed from behind cover, realizing his sudden ambush had dissolved into a meat grinder. He pulled a flash grenade from his tactical belt, primed it, and tossed it blindly across the room.
Nikolai instantly recognized the metal canister’s distinctive ping against marble. He threw his arms over his head and ducked behind a structural column as an blinding white flash and an ear-splitting detonation tore through the hall. The acoustic shockwave set the chandeliers swaying violently, raining fine crystal droplets across the room.
When the ringing in his ears subsided two seconds later, Nikolai leaned out, gun drawn. The room was choked with bitter, gray smoke. Dante was gone. Vanessa was gone. The heavy service doors hung open, a smear of fresh blood leading into the labyrinthine corridors of the estate.
A masked operative from Nikolai’s private shadow unit stepped through the haze, lowering his barrel. ""Perimeter is secure, Sir. But they took the auxiliary stairs.""
Nikolai straightened his black tie, completely indifferent to the dust clinging to his tailored jacket. His jaw was set like carved granite. ""They aren't trying to escape the estate.""
""Sir?""
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Nikolai’s dark eyes widened with sudden, terrifying clarity. ""The vault. They knew the protocol. They know Elena took Sofia there.""
Without waiting for his guard, Nikolai sprinted toward the west wing, a ferocious terror gripping his chest that no enemy army had ever managed to ignite.
