Chapter 12
The rapid thwip-thwip-thwip of suppressed gunfire tore through the luxurious living space. The glass coffee table shattered instantly, showering the floor with glittering shards. Michael dove behind a heavy leather sofa, returning fire with terrifying accuracy. His first two shots dropped the mercenaries flanking Vance, their bodies hitting the hardwood with heavy, lifeless thuds.
Marcus moved with the fluid, analytical precision of a former military operative. He utilized the entryway pillars for cover, laying down a suppressing barrage that pinned Vance and the remaining men near the shattered doorway. The air quickly filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and pulverized drywall.
"Flank them!" Vance roared, taking cover behind a heavy bronze sculpture near the foyer. "Get to the hallway!"
Michael’s heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear for his own life, but from a profound, agonizing terror for the fragile little girl hiding under the bed down the hall. He could not let them reach her bedroom.
"Marcus, cover the hall!" Michael commanded, reloading his weapon with practiced speed.
Marcus nodded, sliding across the floor and taking a defensive position at the mouth of the corridor leading to Renee’s room. He fired a controlled burst, forcing a mercenary who had broken cover to retreat violently.
David squeezed his eyes shut behind the marble island, trembling uncontrollably as bullets chipped away at the stone above his head. He was a ruthless corporate lawyer, not a combatant, and the sheer, unadulterated violence of the DeLuca family feud was entirely beyond his comprehension.
Michael knew they could not hold off a dozen heavily armed men indefinitely. He needed the extraction team. He checked his phone, the screen cracked but functional. The secure line was still open.
"Extraction, what is your ETA?" Michael demanded over the roar of gunfire.
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"Two minutes to the roof, Mr. DeLuca," a calm, professional voice replied. "We are encountering heavy weather, but we are pushing through."
"Make it one," Michael ordered, his jaw locked in absolute defiance. He looked toward the hallway, his protective fury burning brighter than the tactical red lights. He was going to get his daughter out of this city, and then he was going to burn his father's empire to the ground.
