Chapter 6 - The Iron Curtain Falls
Flashbang grenades detonated with blinding white light and thunderous concussive blasts that rattled the teeth inside everyone’s skulls.
Before the smoke could even begin to clear, federal tactical operatives poured through the breach like a wave of armored steel, their carbines flashing in the strobe-lit chaos.
“FBI! DOWN ON THE GROUND! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
The two Torres enforcers didn't even have time to raise their shotguns. A wall of synchronized suppressive fire caught both men in the shoulders and thighs, dropping them instantly onto the stone floor in a heap of groaning agony.
Marcus Torres spun around in blind panic, trying to bring his pistol to bear on the incoming assault team, but a heavy tactical shield slammed squarely into his chest, launching him backward against the reinforced safe deposit boxes with a sickening crunch of ribs. The detonator slipped from his limp fingers, clattering harmlessly across the marble floor as federal agents swarmed him, pinning his face to the ground and slapping heavy steel cuffs over his wrists.
The entire firefight lasted less than four seconds.
As the smoke slowly cleared, revealing the kneeling figures of the hostages and the chaos of the tactical sweep, Dominic remained kneeling on the cold marble floor.
He didn't stand up immediately. His hands remained behind his head until a federal team leader stepped forward, lowering his rifle barrel and offering a gloved hand.
“Clear, Mr. Castellano,” the agent said respectfully, recognizing the real power in the room. “You’re safe.”
Dominic ignored the outstretched hand. He lowered his arms, stood up with mechanical stiffness, and turned his back on the federal agents.
Amelia was still huddled behind the overturned mahogany counter. The zip-ties on her wrists had been severed by a quick-thinking hostage beside her, but she hadn't moved. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, her eyes wide and dark with shock.
Dominic crossed the room in two strides, dropping down onto his knees beside her.
“Amelia,” he breathed, his voice breaking—the first time in thirty-eight years that a crack had ever shown in his armor.
He reached out slowly, terrified to touch her, as if she might vanish like smoke if he applied too much pressure. His large, calloused hands hovered over her shoulders before gently sliding down to cup her face. Her skin was freezing cold.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispered, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled over her eyelashes and tracked down her pale cheeks. “You absolute, arrogant idiot. He was going to kill you.”
“Let him try,” Dominic murmured, his forehead resting gently against hers, ignoring the tactical agents, the police captains, and the ruined vault around them. “Let the whole world try. They don't matter anymore.”
She reached up, her small hands grabbing the lapels of his charcoal overcoat, pulling him as close as her swollen stomach would allow, burying her face against his neck.
“I lost you once,” Dominic whispered against her dark hair, his voice rough with a raw, terrifying intensity. “I am never, never letting you walk away again.”
Victor appeared at the edge of the debris field, clearing his throat awkwardly as he gestured toward the flashing sirens outside. “Boss... the federal director is asking for a statement. And we have an ambulance waiting outside for Miss Hart. Just as a precaution.”
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Dominic didn't look up at his chief of security. He simply scooped Amelia up into his arms, lifting her effortlessly against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all.
“Tell the director my statement is that his tactical team was two minutes too slow,” Dominic said coldly over his shoulder, carrying her past the rows of federal agents and out toward the waiting night. “And cancel every meeting on my calendar for the next ten years.”
