Chapter 6 - The Steel Net
"Take the book," Victor ordered his men, ignoring Eric’s threat. "Kill the boy. Bring the girl with us. She knows how to unlock the offshore accounts."
Two tactical guards stepped forward, raising their submachine guns.
In that fraction of a second, Emma didn't think about her unpaid bills, her grandfather, or her fear. She grabbed the heavy crystal water carafe from the table and shattered it against the nearest guard’s face.
The guard stumbled back with a bloody roar.
The distraction was all Eric needed. Moving with terrifying speed, he grabbed the edge of the heavy two-hundred-pound walnut table and flipped it sideways, crushing the second guard against the floor. Shots rang out, wood splinters flying into the air as bullets chewed into the hardwood table.
Eric grabbed Emma by her coat collar, pulling her behind the turned table. "Can you run?" he yelled over the deafening gunfire.
"Yes!" she gasped.
"The panic room! Behind the bookshelf in the study! GO!"
"What about you?"
"I’m getting my city back!" Eric snarled. He pulled two smoke grenades from his jacket, popped the pins, and rolled them into the center of the living room.
Instantly, thick, blinding white smoke filled the penthouse. The coughing and shouting of Victor’s guards echoed through the gloom, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic bark of Eric’s pistol.
Emma didn't hesitate. She dragged Dominick’s heavy, bleeding body across the floor, pulling him through the study doorway just as bullets ripped through the drywall above their heads.
Inside the study, she slammed her shoulder against the hidden latch behind the mahogany bookcase. The wall swung open, revealing a reinforced steel door leading into a small, vault-like room equipped with security monitors and independent communications.
She dragged Dominick inside, slammed the heavy steel door, and engaged the triple electronic locks.
The noise of gunfire immediately faded into a dull, muffled thrum behind six inches of reinforced ballistic steel.
"Dominick! Stay with me!" Emma cried, ripping open his shirt. The bullet had entered his upper left chest, missing his heart by inches, but he was losing blood fast.
"He... he shot me..." Dominick coughed, blood staining his lips. "My own... old man..."
"Don't talk," Emma said, grabbing a tactical trauma kit from the panic room’s wall emergency cabinet. She jammed a chest seal over his wound, pressing hard. "You're going to live, Dominick. You hear me? You're going to live, and you're going to see him pay for this!"
On the wall monitors inside the panic room, Emma could see the living room covered in thick white smoke. Figures moved like ghosts. One of Victor’s guards fell, then another. Eric moved through the fog with lethal efficiency, a shadow of vengeance.
Then, on the central camera feed, Emma saw Victor Salerno rushing toward the private elevator, carrying the leather-bound ledger under his arm.
He pressed the call button frantically. The elevator doors opened.
Before Victor could step inside, a figure stepped out from the darkness of the elevator shaft.
It was an old man. He wore a dark, faded trench coat. His hair was thin and snow-white, but his posture was straight as a steel rod. In his hand, he held an old, nickel-plated revolver.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the monitor screen, tears overflowing her eyes.
"Grandpa..." she whispered.
Giuseppe Aiello didn't say a word. He raised the revolver and fired twice.
Victor Salerno stumbled backward into the center of the living room, dropping the ledger, his hands clutching his legs as he hit the floor, screaming in agony.
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The smoke began to clear. Eric stood on one side of the room, his gun raised. Giuseppe stood on the other, his nickel-plated revolver pointed straight at Victor’s head.
Between them lay the four-hundred-million-dollar ledger.
