Chapter 14
The immediate silence following the firefight was eerie and ringing. Michael didn't waste a single second. He holstered his weapon and sprinted down the hallway, his heart pounding with a desperate, overwhelming need to see his daughter.
He threw open the bedroom door. The room was dark, but he could hear the soft, terrified whimpering coming from beneath the plush mattress.
"Renee?" Michael called out, his deep voice turning incredibly soft. "Sweetheart, it’s Daddy. It’s over."
A tiny, trembling figure in a pale-blue lace dress crawled out from under the bed. Her big expressive eyes were red and swollen, her light-brown hair tangled. She launched herself into Michael’s arms, crying uncontrollably.
"Daddy! It was so loud!" Renee sobbed, burying her face into his chest.
"I know, baby. I know," Michael murmured, holding her protectively and kissing the top of her head. "But you were so brave. You were the bravest girl in the world. We are leaving now. We're going for a ride in a helicopter."
Renee sniffled, looking up at him with innocent, tear-stained eyes. "A helicopter? Like in the movies?"
"Just like the movies," Michael promised, offering her a reassuring, though strained, smile.
He carried her out of the bedroom and back into the ruined living room. Marcus was helping a pale, shaking David up from behind the kitchen island.
"Grab your laptop, David," Michael ordered, his intense, commanding presence fully restored. "We need those files. You are coming with us."
"To where?" David stammered, adjusting his crooked glasses, staring in horror at the bodies littering the floor. "Michael, you just waged a war in a high-rise. The police will be here in minutes!"
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"We are going off the grid," Michael stated, striding toward the private elevator that led to the roof access. "Anthony wanted a war. I am going to give him one from the shadows."
Marcus swiped a keycard, and the elevator doors opened. They piled inside, the metal doors shutting, sealing them away from the carnage of the penthouse. As the elevator ascended to the roof, Michael held Renee tight against his chest, shielding her fragile body from the cold reality of the world they had just survived. He looked at the medical report still clutched in David's trembling hand—the 99.9% proof of paternity. Anthony DeLuca had stolen Elena and sold his daughter. The reckoning had only just begun.
