Chapter 6 - The Siege of Penthouse A
"In the safe room. Now!" Gabriel barked, grabbing my arm and shoving me toward the hidden door in his study.
"I'm not leaving you!" I shouted, resisting his grip.
"Elena, this isn't a debate!" Gabriel roared, his eyes flashing with lethal authority. "Moretti’s men don't want to talk! They brought heavy tactical gear! Get inside the study and lock the brass bolt!"
Gunfire erupted from the elevator hallway.
The deafening thump-thump-thump of automatic rifles shattered the glass panels along the private entrance. Plaster dust exploded into the air as Gabriel's remaining guards returned fire from behind the marble pillars.
Gabriel didn't wait for my agreement. He grabbed me around the waist, threw me into the study, and slammed the heavy oak door shut.
Click.
The external lock engaged automatically.
"Gabriel!" I screamed, pounding on the heavy wood.
Through the thick door, the sound of the firefight was terrifying—shouting voices in Italian, the rhythmic crunch of boots on broken glass, and the heavy, terrifying roar of Gabriel's weapon returning fire with lethal precision.
I couldn't just sit there.
I ran to Gabriel's desk. The encrypted monitors were showing the live security feeds from the main room and the hallway.
Four men in black tactical vests were pushing through the shattered doorway. Two of Gabriel's guards were down on the floor. Gabriel himself was crouching behind his heavy mahogany desk, ducking as a hail of bullets tore through the leather chairs and shattered his crystal glasses.
Standing near the hallway was a tall, silver-haired man in a tailored grey suit holding a heavy revolver—Marco Moretti's younger brother, Silvio.
"Severin!" Silvio shouted over the noise of gunfire, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the high ceiling. "Give us the girl and the forged icon, and we leave you breathing! The Moretti family has no quarrel with you!"
Gabriel rose from behind the desk like a nightmare emerging from the smoke.
He fired three rapid shots. Two of Silvio's tactical men dropped to the marble floor instantly, blood pooling on the white stone.
"You brought weapons into my home, Silvio," Gabriel's voice echoed through the room—cold, terrible, and utterly devoid of human mercy. "No one leaves this floor alive."
Silvio ducked behind a pillar, cursing wildly as he reloaded his revolver. "He's out of ammo! Move in!"
The remaining two tactical men advanced on Gabriel's position, their rifles raised.
Gabriel reached into his pocket. He didn't pull out another magazine.
He pulled out a small remote detonator.
My eyes widened on the security screen.
Gabriel had rigged the main hallway decorative pillars weeks ago.
"Gabriel, no!" I screamed at the screen, knowing the blast would tear through the entire open-concept living area—including the corner where the Bassano masterwork stood on its easel.
I didn't think about my safety. I didn't think about the bullets.
I slammed my body against the study's emergency override panel, jamming my thin steel palette knife into the manual release valve I had noticed earlier beneath the desk frame.
The brass bolt retracted with a loud hiss.
I threw the study door open and sprinted out into the smoke-filled room.
"Gabriel!" I shrieked.
Gabriel’s head snapped toward me in sheer, unadulterated terror—the first time I had ever seen fear on his face. "Elena! Get back!"
One of Silvio's men turned his rifle toward me, lowering his sights on my chest.
"No!" Gabriel roared.
He didn't hit the detonator.
He threw his own body across the open space between the desk and the sofa, stepping directly into the line of fire.
BANG.
A heavy gunshot echoed through the room.
Gabriel jerked mid-air, a dark spot of red exploding across the left side of his charcoal shirt, but his momentum carried him forward. He slammed into the gunman like a freight train, driving him over the glass coffee table and snapping the man's neck with a single, brutal twist of his hands.
Silvio Moretti raised his revolver to finish Gabriel off where he lay bleeding on the shattered glass.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed a heavy, two-pound brass antique candlestick from the side table and swung it with all the strength in my body, slamming it directly into the side of Silvio's head.
Silvio groaned, his revolver slipping from his fingers as he collapsed sideways into the velvet curtains.
Silence descended on the penthouse, thick with the smell of cordite, blood, and copper.
I dropped the brass candlestick, my hands shaking uncontrollably, and dropped to my knees beside Gabriel.
He was lying on his back amid the broken glass, his right hand pressed tightly against his lower ribs, blood oozing freely through his dark shirt.
"Gabriel! Oh God, Gabriel!" I sobbed, tears finally tearing past my defenses as I pressed my hands over his to stop the bleeding. "You idiot! Why did you jump in front of him?!"
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Gabriel looked up at me through dark, pain-hazed eyes. His pale face was covered in soot, but a faint, bloody smile touched his lips as he reached up with his left hand, gently cupping my face.
"I told you, Elena..." he rasped out softly, coughing blood against his lips. "No one touches what's under my roof."
