Chapter 4 - The Sound of Thunder
The door to the apartment didn't just open; it was kicked off its hinges.
The heavy wood crashed inward, splintering against the drywall. A Vanguard mercenary, dressed in full tactical gear and holding a submachine gun, stepped through the threshold, his weapon sweeping the room.
He never got the chance to fire.
Bang.
The Beretta in Elena’s hand roared, the muzzle flash lighting up the dim kitchen. The bullet struck the mercenary directly in the center of his chest plate. The force of the impact didn't penetrate the heavy armor, but it knocked him backward, his weapon firing a wild, erratic burst into the plaster ceiling.
Plaster dust fell like white rain as the man scrambled to his feet, but before he could aim again, a shadow appeared behind him.
Marco.
He came through the doorway like a storm, his movements so fast they were almost a blur. He grabbed the mercenary’s weapon, twisting the man’s arm until the bone snapped with a wet, sickening crack. In the same motion, Marco drove his elbow into the man’s throat, dropping him instantly to the floor.
Marco stepped over the unconscious guard, his chest heaving, his dark coat soaked with rain and splattered with plaster dust. His gray-and-amber eyes swept the room, instantly locking onto Elena, who was still standing behind the counter, her gun pointed directly at his chest.
For three seconds, neither of them moved.
The smell of gunpowder and fresh yeast filled the small kitchen, creating a strange, suffocating contrast.
"Elena," Marco said, his voice low, steady, and entirely devoid of the anger she had expected. He did not reach for his own weapon. He held his bare hands out, palms facing her, just as Maggie Bennett had done for him in that Chicago trauma bay years ago. "Put the gun down. It’s me."
"You brought her here," Elena whispered, her fingers tightening on the trigger. "You brought the fire back to my children."
"I didn't know," Marco said, his eyes filled with a raw, agonizing sincerity. "I swear to you, Elena. I thought she was helping me find you. I didn't know about the trust. I didn't know she was planning to... to hurt them."
He took a slow step forward.
"Don't!" Elena yelled, her voice cracking. "I will shoot you, Marco. I am not the woman you left in Chicago."
"I know you aren't," Marco said softly, taking another step. "The woman I left in Chicago wouldn't have survived three years in these mountains alone. The woman I left wouldn't have kept my children safe. You’re stronger than I ever was, Elena."
He stopped just three feet from the counter.
"But you don't need to fight this alone anymore," he said, reaching out to gently touch the barrel of her gun with his bare, scarred finger. "Let me protect you. Let me be the husband I was supposed to be before she took everything from us."
The sincerity in his voice, the familiar, warm scent of his skin beneath the rain, was too much. The Beretta slowly lowered, her arms trembling as the adrenaline began to drain from her body.
May you like
"They're in the pantry," she whispered, her eyes filling with hot, angry tears. "They're safe. But Clara... Clara has the whole street blocked."
"Not for long," Marco said, a cold, dangerous smile returning to his face. "Marcello has already called the local sheriff. And in this county, the sheriff is on my payroll."
