Chapter 5 - Ambush on Forty
The chime of the private executive elevator rang through the quiet corporate floor like a funeral bell.
DING.
Clara stood behind Matteo, her hands resting against his broad back, feeling the massive muscles of his shoulders lock into absolute, motionless tension. Through the frosted glass panels of the heavy mahogany doors, she could see the shadows of three men moving rapidly through the outer office suite.
Outside, the quiet typing of the administrative staff had completely ceased. Shouts of terror erupted from the cubicles, followed by the violent clatter of rolling chairs being overturned and the sharp, metallic rack of automatic rifle slides being pulled back.
"Where is Vescari?!" a harsh, accented voice barked from the outer hallway—a cold, guttural voice that carried the distinct, heavy inflection of Eastern Europe. "Where is he?!"
A female employee shrieked in terror. A sharp, deafening gunshot echoed through the floor—BANG!—followed by the sound of shattering glass and hysterical screaming.
Clara’s heart seized in her chest. They were shooting inside the corporate office.
Matteo did not flinch. His eyes remained locked on the wooden doors, his silver pistol held with steady, iron precision in two hands.
"Dominic," Matteo said quietly into the small radio earpiece clipped to his collar. "Status."
Dominic’s voice crackled through the earpiece, accompanied by the muffled sound of distant gunfire from the lower stairwells. "Boss! Volkov’s men infiltrated the building through the sub-basement loading dock! They had security access cards issued by Julian Vance! I have six men moving up stairwell B, but they’ve locked down the floor doors!"
"Break the glass," Matteo ordered coldly. "And kill anyone not wearing a Vescari security badge."
Before Matteo could finish his sentence, the heavy mahogany doors of his private office were kicked violently inward.
The wooden frame splintered with a thunderous CRACK, the doors flying back against the walls.
Two men in black tactical vests and civilian clothes burst into the room, raising short-barreled submachine guns.
Matteo fired.
BANG! BANG!
The heavy 45-caliber rounds echoed like cannon fire inside the enclosed office.
The first gunman was struck squarely in the center of his chest before he could even raise his weapon, his body hurled backward through the shattered doorway onto the carpet outside. The second gunman managed to fire a erratic burst—TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!—sending three high-velocity rounds tearing through the leather armchairs and shattering the silver-framed photograph of Leo on the wooden shelf.
Matteo didn't move an inch. He took a single, calm step forward, firing twice more with terrifying, inhuman accuracy.
BANG! BANG!
The second attacker collapsed instantly in the doorway, dropping his weapon with a metallic clatter, blood pooling rapidly onto the polished hardwood floor.
Clara covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, but she kept her composure, refusing to scream. She had seen corporate warfare, but she had never stood five feet from lethal, point-blank bloodshed.
Through the smoke and the smell of ozone and cordite, a third figure stepped slowly into the doorway.
It was not a Volkov hitman.
It was Dr. Julian Vance.
Julian was shaking violently, his face ghost-white, holding a small silver revolver in his trembling right hand. His wire-rimmed glasses were crooked, and behind him, standing in the ruined outer office, were two more heavily armed Volkov mercenaries holding the remaining administrative staff at gunpoint.
"Put the gun down, Matteo!" Julian shrieked, his high-pitched voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated hysteria. "Put it down, or they will shoot every single person on this floor!"
Matteo did not lower his pistol. His dark eyes locked onto Julian with a cold, contemptuous disgust that made the gaunt technician stagger back half a step.
"You traded your life to Nikolai Volkov, Julian," Matteo said, his voice terrifyingly steady. "For what? Money? Offshore accounts?"
"They were going to kill me, Matteo!" Julian screamed, tears of panic streaming down his gaunt face. "Marcus Kane told them I was going to shut down the shadow partition! They offered me five million dollars and a safe flight to Zurich if I gave them access to your private terminal today! I had no choice!"
"You always have a choice, Julian," Matteo said softly. "You could have chosen to die like a man."
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Julian yelled, raising his revolver with two shaking hands, pointing it directly at Matteo’s head. "Where is the mirror drive?! The girl! The secretary took the silver tablet from my office! Give me the tablet, or I swear to God I will open fire!"
Behind Matteo, Clara felt a sudden, ice-cold surge of adrenaline wipe away her lingering fear.
She looked at the desk beside her. Resting near the edge was a heavy, solid-brass paperweight shaped like the Vescari Holdings corporate emblem—a four-pound block of solid metal with razor-sharp corners.
Matteo saw Clara’s reflection in the glass window behind Julian. He saw her subtle movement, her hand slowly reaching toward the brass paperweight.
Matteo deliberately kept his pistol leveled at Julian’s chest, taking a slow, heavy step forward to draw every eye in the room to himself.
"The tablet is on my desk, Julian," Matteo said smoothly, his voice carrying an intoxicating, hypnotic weight that completely commanded the room. "If you want it, come and take it. But remember... the moment your finger tightens on that trigger, my men in stairwell B will blow your head off your shoulders."
Julian’s eyes darted frantically toward the outer hallway, his paranoia escalating to a blinding fever pitch. "They can't get through the steel doors! Marcus locked the emergency system from the basement!"
"Marcus didn't build this building, Julian," Matteo whispered, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips. "I did."
At that precise millisecond, Clara acted.
She grabbed the heavy brass paperweight with both hands, stepped out from behind Matteo, and hurled it with every ounce of physical strength she possessed straight at Julian Vance’s face.
The heavy block of solid brass flew through the air like a cannonball.
CRACK!
It struck Julian squarely across the bridge of his nose and his wire-rimmed glasses.
Julian let out a sickening howl of pain as his nose shattered, his head snapping backward, blood spraying across his corduroy jacket. His hand jerked violently, firing a wild shot into the ceiling—BANG!—plaster and dust raining down upon the room.
Before the two Volkov mercenaries behind Julian could react to the distraction, Matteo moved like a strike of lightning.
He lunged forward, grabbed Julian by the collar, and used the gaunt technician’s body as a human shield while opening fire on the two mercenaries in the hallway.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The heavy 45-caliber rounds tore through the doorway with surgical, devastating accuracy. The first mercenary was struck in the neck and dropped instantly; the second took two rounds to the upper torso, crashing backward into a row of filing cabinets before collapsing motionless onto the floor.
Silence returned to the fortieth floor—a thick, suffocating silence broken only by the sound of Julian Vance whimpering pathetically on the floor, clutching his shattered, bloody face, and the distant, rapid stomping of heavy boots ascending the stairwell.
The heavy steel emergency door from stairwell B burst open.
Dominic and eight heavily armed Vescari security officers poured onto the floor, their tactical weapons raised, sweeping the room with professional, lethal efficiency.
"Clear! Clear!" Dominic shouted, spotting Matteo standing over Julian’s writhing body.
Dominic rushed into the private office, his face slick with sweat. "Boss! Are you hit?!"
"I am fine," Matteo said calmly, stepping over Julian and reholstering his silver pistol beneath his dark suit jacket as casually as if he were adjusting his tie.
He turned instantly toward Clara.
Clara was standing near the desk, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her silk blouse stained with a smudge of gray plaster dust from the ceiling, but her hands were steady and her eyes were bright, clear, and unyielding.
Matteo walked over to her in three long strides. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his large hands trembling slightly as his eyes frantically scanned her body for any sign of injury.
"Clara..." he breathed, his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming emotion that completely tore through his iron composure. "Are you hurt? Did a round hit you?"
"I am completely fine, Matteo," Clara said softly, reaching up to lay her hands over his trembling fingers. "The paperweight hit him squarely."
Matteo stared at her face—at her extraordinary, fearless beauty, her absolute composure under fire, and the radiant, fierce love that was now glowing openly in her eyes.
Without a word, in front of Dominic, in front of eight tactical security guards, and in front of the whimpering traitor on the floor, Matteo pulled Clara into his massive arms and kissed her.
It was not a gentle, corporate kiss.
It was a fierce, possessive, intoxicating collision of two souls who had found each other through fire, blood, and nine years of terrible dark silence. Clara wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, standing on her tiptoes, kissing him back with a passionate, desperate intensity that made the entire shattered room dissolve into nothingness around them.
When Matteo finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against hers, his dark eyes were burning with a fierce, absolute light.
"Dominic," Matteo commanded, his voice filled with terrifying, divine authority, his eyes never leaving Clara’s face.
"Yes, Boss?!" Dominic answered instantly, standing at sharp attention.
"Clean up this floor," Matteo ordered coldly. "Drag Julian Vance down to the sub-basement holding cells. Do not let him die until he gives us every encryption key for Marcus Kane’s accounts."
"Understood, Boss!"
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Matteo took Clara’s hand, lacing his long fingers tightly through hers, refusing to let her go for even a single second.
"And call my private helicopter to the roof," Matteo added, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that promised blood and fire. "We are going to Gary, Indiana."
