Chapter 5 - The Inside Job
Vincent grabbed my hand and pulled me behind the massive marble kitchen island.
He shoved a cold, heavy handgun into my trembling fingers and told me to keep my head down.
The heavy steel doors of the penthouse burst open with a deafening crash.
Tactical flashlights sliced through the darkness as a dozen masked mercenaries flooded into the foyer.
Vincent did not hesitate for a single second.
He leaned over the marble counter and fired with lethal, terrifying precision.
Three mercenaries dropped to the floor before they even realized where the shots were coming from.
The remaining intruders returned fire, shredding the expensive furniture and shattering the crystal chandeliers above us.
Vincent's loyal guards poured in from the side hallways, engaging the attackers in a brutal, deafening firefight.
I covered my ears, curling into a tight ball as bullets chipped away at the marble inches from my head.
Vincent grabbed my shoulder and yelled that we had to move to the panic room immediately.
We crawled across the floor, dodging a hail of bullets as his men bravely held the defensive line.
A mercenary stepped out from behind a shattered glass display case, raising a shotgun directly at my chest.
Vincent tackled me out of the way, taking a glancing blow to his injured shoulder as he fired upward.
The mercenary collapsed backward, his tactical mask slipping completely off his face.
Vincent stared at the dead man, a low growl of absolute fury rumbling in his chest.
I looked at the body and realized the attacker was not wearing standard mercenary gear.
He was wearing the official, unmistakable uniform of the Chicago Police Department.
Isabella had not just hired a hit squad to breach the penthouse.
She had weaponized the city's corrupt police force, turning the law itself against the Mercer family.
If the police were involved, the panic room would eventually become a permanent tomb.
Vincent cursed violently, changing direction and pulling me toward his private study instead.
He slammed the heavy wooden doors shut and locked them, giving us only seconds to breathe.
He rushed to a massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and pulled a specific leather-bound novel.
The entire bookshelf unlatched and swung open, revealing a dark, terrifyingly narrow maintenance shaft.
He told me the shaft led down to an old service elevator that bypassed the lobby completely.
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We stepped into the claustrophobic darkness just as the study doors began to splinter under heavy police battering rams.
Vincent closed the secret entrance, sealing us entirely in the pitch-black, suffocating shaft.
