Chapter 34 - The siege of the north wing
The crack of suppressed gunfire shattered the reinforced double-paned glass of the upper terrace. A heavy lead slug buried itself into the mahogany banister three inches from Richard’s shoulder, sending razor-sharp splinters into the air.
"Down!" Richard roared, grabbing Sarah by the collar of her jacket and shoving her behind the massive marble plinth of an 18th-century statue. In the same fluid motion, his arm scooped Noah off his feet, tucking the small boy securely under his chest against the cold stone floor.
Viktor didn't hesitate. The veteran enforcer rolled behind an upturned oak dining table, his submachine gun barking in short, controlled bursts toward the skylight. Glass rained down like diamond shards, followed by the heavy thud of a tactical operator crashing through the ceiling ropes, his body already limp from Viktor’s pinpoint fire.
"They're Vatican black-ops contractors!" Viktor yelled over the deafening echoes of combat, reloading with practiced speed. "Thermal optics! Carbon-fiber plating! Julian didn't send street thugs, Richard—these are wet-work specialists from Eastern Europe!"
More laser beams sliced through the rising dust and gun smoke. Julian's plan was clear: cut off the basement, trap the main garrison of Bellacorte guards below ground, and extract the child using a surgical kill-team.
Noah didn't cry. He didn't scream. He lay curled under Richard’s heavy wool coat, his wide green eyes reflecting the flashes of muzzle fire with that unnatural, synthetic calm Dr. Thorne had described.
"Sarah," Richard hissed directly into her ear, the heat of his breath cutting through the terror paralyzing her. "Listen to me. The secret passageway behind the ballroom fireplace leads to the old wine cellar, which connects to the secondary drainage tunnel out toward the river. Take the emergency go-bag beneath the floorboards. Do not look back. Do not wait for me."
"I'm not leaving you!" she sobbed, clutching Richard’s forearm. "You saved us at the docks! We stay together!"
"If you stay here, Julian takes Noah, and he puts a bullet in the back of your skull," Richard snapped, his eyes blazing with an unholy fire. "You are the only person this boy trusts who isn't a Bellacorte butcher. You keep him human. Go!"
A flashbang grenade sailed through the shattered window, bouncing across the polished floor toward them.
"Flash!" Viktor shouted, turning his face away and closing his eyes.
Richard reacted instinctively, throwing his entire body over Sarah and Noah, burying his face into his collar. The grenade detonated with a blinding, ear-splitting fury that turned the world into a ringing white void. The concussive shockwave battered Richard's ribs, but the titanium weave of his tailored vest absorbed the brunt of the shrapnel.
Through the ringing in his ears, Richard heard the heavy tactical boots landing on the marble. Two operators, moving in tandem, weapons raised at the low-ready.
Richard didn't wait for his vision to fully clear. Acting on fifty years of muscle memory, he surged from the ground like a waking demon. His custom .45 spoke twice. The first contractor took a hollow-point bullet under the rim of his ballistic helmet, dropping instantly. The second contractor swiveled his rifle, but Richard closed the distance before the trigger could be pulled, smashing the heavy slide of his pistol into the man’s throat.
The contractor choked, stumbling backward, but he was a trained assassin; his combat knife flashed from his belt in an upward thrust aimed at Richard’s liver. Richard caught the man’s wrist with his left hand, feeling the bone grind under his crushing grip, and drove his own gun barrel beneath the contractor’s jaw.
*Crack.*
The man went limp. Richard let the corpse fall, spinning around to scan the mezzanine.
Viktor had eliminated two more men by the stairwell, but dark blood was soaking through the left leg of his trousers. The enforcer leaned heavily against the banister, breathing hard, smoke curling from the barrel of his weapon.
"Go-bag is clear, Boss," Viktor wheezed through gritted teeth. "The ballroom passage is open. Sarah... take the boy and run!"
Sarah scrambled to her feet, scooping Noah into her arms. She looked at Richard one last time—a look filled with sheer terror, gratitude, and a fierce, unspoken defiance. Then she sprinted toward the ballroom, her footsteps disappearing into the shadow of the secret passage.
Richard stepped over the bodies, ejecting his spent magazine and slapping a fresh one home. He looked up at the wall display. Julian was still watching through an autonomous secondary camera, his face completely devoid of humor now.
"Impressive, Father," Julian’s voice echoed through the static. "You killed five of the best mercenaries money can buy. But there are twenty more surrounding the perimeter. You can't run."
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Richard looked dead into the camera lens, wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, and smiled a cold, terrifying smile that had once brought the mayors and governors of three states to their knees.
"I’m not running, Julian," Richard said softly. "I’m coming to Buenos Aires."
