Chapter 5 - The Wine Cellar
The descent into the mansion’s subterranean levels was pitch black. The emergency power generators had kicked in, casting a eerie, pulsating red glow along the stone archways of the underground wine cellar.
The air was damp, cold, and thick with the scent of aged oak, concrete, and expensive cabernet.
Avery moved through the shadows with silent, predatory speed, her submachine gun raised, her eyes scanning every dark alcove between the floor-to-ceiling wine racks. Dominic followed three paces behind, providing rear security.
A high-pitched shriek echoed from the far end of the cellar.
"PLEASE! DON'T KILL ME! I HAVE MONEY! I CAN GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT!"
It was Vanessa’s voice.
Avery and Dominic accelerated, slipping through a heavy iron archway into the main tasting room.
Standing before the reinforced steel door of the wine cellar was a massive, scarred man wearing an armored tactical coat. He had a thick gray beard, a shaved head, and a jagged steel plate visible beneath the skin of his left temple—the physical mark left by Captain Marcus Carter eight years ago.
Viktor Volkov.
Volkov was holding a heavy, suppressed pistol pointed directly at the steel door’s lock, preparing to blow the hinges open. Two armed Russian guards stood beside him, holding thermite breaching charges.
"Viktor," Dominic’s voice boomed through the stone cellar like thunder.
Volkov froze. Slowly, he turned his scarred face toward the red-lit archway.
When his eyes fell on Dominic, a broad, grotesque smile spread across his face, revealing several gold teeth.
"Dominic Moretti," Volkov rasped in a heavy Russian accent. "I was hoping you wouldn't die in the foyer. It is much more satisfying to kill you down here in the dark, just like I killed your pathetic father."
"You didn't kill my father, Viktor," Dominic said, stepping out of the shadows, his rifle leveled at Volkov’s chest. "My father died of a heart attack six years ago in a hospital bed. You spent eight years hiding in Serbia like a rat."
Volkov’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, murderous snarl. His eyes shifted slightly to the left, catching sight of Avery standing beside Dominic in her tactical vest, holding a submachine gun.
Volkov blinked, staring at Avery’s face.
"I know those eyes," Volkov whispered, his jaw dropping in sudden realization. "The cop. The tactical officer from the warehouse."
"His name was Captain Marcus Carter," Avery said, her voice dropping into a register of terrifying, calm absolute fury. "And I'm his daughter."
Volkov let out a booming, arrogant laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "Ah! The little girl! The delivery driver! Vanessa told me about you! She said you were a pathetic little beggar scraping for copper coins in Cicero!"
"Vanessa lied to you about a lot of things, Volkov," Avery said. "Including how this night ends."
"Kill them," Volkov ordered his two guards.
Before the guards could raise their rifles, Avery moved.
She fired a three-round burst from her submachine gun into the concrete ceiling directly above the guards. Heavy limestone chunks rained down, blinding the two mercenaries.
Dominic stepped forward simultaneously, his rifle barking twice, dropping both guards before the stone dust even hit the floor.
Volkov, realizing he was suddenly alone, raised his heavy pistol aimed directly at Dominic’s head.
Avery didn't hesitate. She threw her empty submachine gun like a spear, striking Volkov square in the face.
The heavy steel weapon broken Volkov’s nose, throwing off his aim. His gun discharged wildly, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the brick wall.
Avery closed the distance between them in less than a second.
She executed a flying double-knee strike that slammed into Volkov’s chest, driving the 250-pound warlord backward into a five-thousand-dollar rack of vintage French wine.
Oak racks collapsed. Hundreds of glass bottles shattered instantly, flooding the concrete floor in a deep, crimson river of expensive wine that looked terrifyingly like blood.
Volkov roared in rage, grabbing a broken wooden beam and swinging it wildly at Avery’s head.
Avery ducked beneath the swing, caught his thick arm, locked her legs around his waist, and executed a flawless hip throw, slamming the massive Russian warlord onto the hard, wet concrete.
She landed on top of him, her knee planted firmly on his throat, her Glock 19 pressed flush against the soft skin beneath his chin.
Volkov lay trapped in the sea of ruined wine, gasping for air, staring up into the cold, unwavering eyes of the daughter of the man who had ruined his life eight years ago.
"My father gave his life to protect this city from scum like you," Avery whispered into Volkov’s ear. "And tonight, I'm taking his badge back."
Dominic stepped up beside them, standing over Volkov, looking down at Avery with an expression of pure, unadulterated awe.
"Is he alive?" Dominic asked softly.
"He’s breathing," Avery said coldly, racking the slide of her Glock. "For now."
From behind the heavy steel door of the wine cellar, a muffled, trembling voice cried out: "Is... is it over?! Please open the door! It's freezing in here!"
May you like
Avery looked up at Dominic and smiled faintly. "Should we leave her in there another twenty-five minutes?"
Dominic let out a low laugh, reaching down to pull Avery to her feet. "Make it thirty."
