Chapter 19 - The London Fall
Gunfire completely shattered the expensive floor-to-ceiling windows, sending cold wind and rain violently howling into the penthouse suite.
Alessandro wrestled an automatic rifle from a stunned guard and immediately laid down a devastating wall of covering fire.
The remaining Bratva operatives scrambled for cover, entirely completely disoriented by the sudden, gruesome death of their undisputed leader.
I sprinted across the ruined suite, dodging a terrifying hail of bullets that tore the luxury furniture entirely to shreds.
I reached Elena, pulling a discarded combat knife from the floor and quickly slashing the heavy zip ties binding her wrists.
She grabbed my hand tightly, her terrified eyes completely wide, but she found the courage to run toward the exit.
My father stood frozen near the oak table, completely paralyzed by fear as the empire he helped build crumbled around him.
I looked at the man who had betrayed me, the man who had traded my life for his own selfish freedom.
For a brief, agonizing second, I considered leaving him there to face the absolute wrath of the surviving Russian mercenaries.
But I was not a monster, and I refused to let the darkness of this world completely consume my humanity.
I grabbed him by his expensive lapels and violently threw him toward the reinforced oak doors of the suite.
Alessandro kicked the heavy doors open, leading our desperate, chaotic sprint down the grand hotel hallway.
Alarms blared endlessly overhead, mixing with the chaotic shouting of Russian guards rapidly ascending the main stairwells.
We ducked into a narrow service elevator, Alessandro violently smashing the control panel to send us plummeting to the basement.
The metal box shook violently as bullets pinged aggressively against the exterior shaft, threatening to sever the cables.
When the doors finally slid open in the subterranean parking garage, we were met by a stunning, unbelievable sight.
Maso Greco was sitting behind the wheel of a stolen armored transit van, his face pale and heavily bandaged, but grinning fiercely.
He had survived the crash in the Alps and tracked us to London, refusing to let his family fight alone.
We piled into the back of the van just as dozens of heavily armed Russians swarmed into the concrete garage.
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Maso slammed the van into gear, smashing violently through the reinforced toll barriers and tearing out into the rainy London night.
I collapsed onto the metal floor of the van, clutching Alessandro’s hand as the adrenaline finally began to drain from my completely exhausted body.
