Chapter 4 - The Russian Bullet
The steel door of the panic room slammed shut, sealing them inside a soundproof vault.
Declan hit the emergency floodlights, illuminating the sterile white room.
He laid Gemma onto the stainless steel medical table in the center of the floor.
Her skin was terrifyingly pale, and her lips were turning a faint shade of blue.
Declan tore off his ruined suit jacket and pressed it firmly against her bleeding stomach.
He commanded her to keep her eyes open and look at him.
Gemma smiled weakly and told him he was being bossy again.
Declan felt his chest tighten as he realized how much blood she was losing.
He reached into the emergency medical kit and pulled out a pair of surgical tweezers.
He told her she was going to have to endure a massive amount of pain.
Gemma simply nodded, biting down hard on the leather strap of his watch.
Declan dug into the open wound, searching for the projectile tearing her apart.
She let out a muffled, agonizing scream that echoed off the metal walls.
Declan clamped the tweezers and pulled the bullet out.
He dropped it into a metal pan, where it landed with a heavy clink.
He poured antiseptic over her wound and quickly bandaged it tight.
As Gemma finally caught her breath, Declan picked up the bullet to examine it.
His blood ran cold when he saw the specific grooves carved into the brass casing.
It was a specialized armor-piercing round manufactured exclusively in Moscow.
Only one crew in Chicago had access to this specific type of ammunition.
It was the Volkov Syndicate, the very family Declan had signed a peace treaty with yesterday.
Marcus had not just betrayed him.
He had deliberately started a massive mob war.
Then the panic room monitors flickered on, displaying a live feed from the office outside.
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Marcus was lying dead on the rug with his throat cut.
And a man in a tailored Russian suit was staring directly into the camera lens.
