Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Third Floor
Darkness wrapped around the estate like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. Emergency red lights flickered on a second later, bathing the grand stairwell in a sinister crimson glow. The distant sound of gun battles outside had ceased, replaced by a terrifying, predatory silence.
Victoria moved like a wraith. Despite the rustle of the bridal silk underneath the charcoal overcoat, her footfalls were completely soundless on the marble steps. Elena trailed three paces behind her, a suppressed pistol held in a two-handed low-ready stance, clearing corners with surgical efficiency.
"Thermal imaging shows three heat signatures on the third-floor landing," Elena whispered, tapping the frame of her tactical glasses. "Two perimeter guards, and one large mass inside the study. Petrov brought his elite Chechen guard."
"They're disciplined, but arrogant," Victoria replied in a bare whisper. "They assume they've eliminated the Thornes and only have to deal with confused estate staff. They don't know who is walking up these stairs."
As they reached the second-floor landing, Victoria signaled with a raised fist. A silhouette emerged from the corridor ahead—a heavily armored combatant holding a shotgun, scanning the grand oil paintings on the wall.
Elena moved to engage, but Victoria gently pushed her aside. Stepping into the red beam of an emergency lantern, Victoria deliberately let the heel of her bridal shoe click sharply against the marble.
The mercenary whipped around, his shotgun raising toward the sound. What met his eyes was surreal: a stunning woman in a bloodstained lace wedding gown covered by a gentleman’s overcoat, standing completely unprotected. For a split second, human hesitation froze his trigger finger.
That split second was all Victoria needed.
She surged forward, closing the distance before the man could process the illusion. Her left hand clamped onto the shotgun's receiver, redirecting the barrel into the ceiling as it discharged with a deafening boom that obliterated an antique plaster cherub. In the same motion, Victoria drove the heel of her palm upward into the man's chin, snapping his head back, followed by an elbow strike to his throat that collapsed his windpipe.
The mercenary dropped to his knees, clutching his neck. Victoria smoothly unholstered the combat knife from his chest rig and severed his femoral artery in one clean, detached stroke.
Elena let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to leave you waiting at the altar, boss."
"Focus," Victoria commanded, wiping her blade on the fallen soldier's tactical vest. "The gunshot gave away our position. Petrov knows we're coming."
Right on cue, heavy machine gun fire chewed through the antique wood paneling of the third floor above them. Plaster dust exploded into the air, raining white powder over the red-lit stairs. Victoria and Elena pressed their backs against the solid stone pillars flanking the balustrade.
Through the hail of bullets, a booming voice echoed down from the grand study—deep, accented, and dripping with malicious amusement.
"Victoria Vane!" Viktor Petrov shouted, the sound of his laughter chilling the air. "Did you truly think you could hide your pretty face under a Thorne bridal veil? Your father was a butcher, but at least he fought like a man! Are you going to shoot me with your wedding bouquet?"
Victoria looked at Elena, signaling three fingers, then two, then one.
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"Viktor," Victoria called out, her voice melodious, calm, and perfectly carrying through the settling dust. "My father was indeed a butcher. But he never taught me how to butcher pigs. That, I learned all on my own."
Before the echo of her words faded, Elena lobbed two white-phosphorus grenades straight into the study doorway.
