Chapter 14 - The Winter Siege
Diana did not enter through the front door. She knew the architecture of the alpine chalet; it was built into the granite face of the mountain, featuring a secondary service entrance beneath the heated wrap-around veranda. Moving like a shadow through the howling blizzard, she breached the basement utility lock with a silent titanium pick.
Inside, the warm air smelled of pine timber and burning birch. She climbed the narrow wooden service stairs, stepping lightly to avoid the groaning floorboards. Her senses were hyper-tuned, registering every sound: the crackle of the hearth upstairs, the deep, rumbling laughter of Alexander Vance, and the faint, heartbreaking sniffle of her daughter.
“It’s a clean transition, Arthur,” Alexander Vance’s voice echoed down the hall, dripping with condescending satisfaction. “The Sterling assets clear your debts with the Mediterranean syndicate. The girl remains in our private academy in Vienna under our legal guardianship. You retire to your villa in Spain. Everyone survives.”
“She has her mother’s temper,” Arthur’s gravelly voice replied, accompanied by the clink of a whiskey glass against crystal. “If Diana returns from the bank—”
“Diana is dead,” Alexander stated flatly. “Elena does not fail. By now, your daughter’s body is at the bottom of the Limmat river.”
Diana reached the top of the stairs, peering through the carved wooden partition into the great room. Alexander Vance sat relaxed in a leather armchair, a glass of bourbon in hand, looking at Arthur across the mahogany table. Two guards flanked the massive bay windows, their assault rifles held across their chests. A third guard stood three feet from Lily, his hand resting carelessly on his holster.
Lily looked up, her tear-stained hazel eyes scanning the dark corners of the room. Suddenly, her gaze locked onto the sliver of space beneath the partition where Diana stood.
Lily did not scream. She did not cry out. She remembered her mother’s words on the catwalk. The little girl simply lowered her eyes to the floor and took one slow, deliberate step away from the guard beside her.
Diana struck.
She kicked the wooden partition outward with explosive force, the heavy oak panel smashing directly into the nearest mercenary, shattering his jaw and sending him sprawling across the hearth.
Before the second guard could raise his barrel, Diana fired twice through the falling splinters. The rounds hit his chest plate with dull thuds, driving him back through the plate-glass window in a shower of glittering crystal and freezing air.
Alexander Vance leaped up from his chair, his drink shattering on the hardwood. “Kill her!” he shrieked.
The third guard grabbed for Lily, but the girl dropped instantly to her knees, tucking her head just as Diana had taught her. Diana threw her empty sidearm with lethal precision; the heavy steel frame struck the guard square between the eyes, breaking his nose and snapping his head back. Diana closed the distance in two strides, driving her combat knife through the seam of his tactical collar.
The guard collapsed. The room fell utterly silent, save for the howling wind blowing snow through the shattered window.
May you like
Diana stood in the center of the room, blood dripping from her torn sleeve onto the Persian rug. She looked at the two old men sitting frozen at the table.
Arthur Sterling’s hand trembled around his whiskey glass. Alexander Vance backed slowly toward the fire, his face pale as death.
