Chapter 16 - Blood on the Catwalk
At the port, Ronan had to make a split-second decision. If he turned back to save his family, Clara would die, and Viktor would hunt them down forever. If he stayed, he risked losing everything. But Ronan Vale didn't choose between bad options; he created his own.
"Take the shot," Ronan whispered into his comms, targeting the overhead floodlights.
A sniper shot shattered the primary light source, plunging the warehouse into sudden darkness. Gunfire erupted from both sides. Ronan moved like a ghost through the shadows, his past as a legendary assassin guiding his movements. He reached the catwalk stairs within seconds, taking down two mercenaries with silent, lethal precision.
Viktor, realizing he was losing control of the situation, grabbed Clara by the hair and began dragging her toward a rear exit balcony overlooking the freezing waters of the lake.
Ronan intercepted them, stepping out from behind a stack of crates. His weapon was trained directly on Viktor’s forehead. "Let her go, Viktor. Your men are dead or captured. Your empire is gone. It ends tonight."
Viktor laughed, a desperate, wild sound. He pulled a detonator from his pocket. "I have a thermal charge wired to the foundations of your beautiful estate, Ronan. One press of this button, and your little maid and her bastards become ash. Drop your weapon, or we all go to hell together."
Clara, using the last ounce of her strength, bit Viktor’s hand hard. Viktor roared in pain, dropping his weapon and the detonator. Ronan didn't hesitate; he lunged forward, tackling Viktor over the railing of the catwalk.
The two men fell twenty feet down, crashing onto a pile of wooden cargo pallets. The impact knocked the wind out of Ronan, but he scrambled for his weapon. Viktor was faster, pulling a hidden blade from his boot, slicing across Ronan’s chest, tearing through his vest.
The gold key to the Maine house tumbled out of Ronan’s pocket, spinning across the concrete floor, catching the dim light of the emergency sirens. Seeing the key—the symbol of the peaceful future he had promised Seraphina—ignited an uncontrollable fury inside Ronan. He grabbed a shattered piece of wood from the pallet and drove it into Viktor’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground before disarming the knife and securing the detonator.
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"You don't get to touch my future," Ronan growled, his boot pressing hard against Viktor’s throat until the Russian passed out from lack of oxygen.
Ronan scooped up the gold key, wiping the blood from his brow. He turned to his remaining men. "Call the federal authorities to clean this up. We’re going home."
