Chapter 16 - The Broken Mirror
The world dissolved into a hurricane of dust, deafening muzzle flashes, and screaming ricochets.
Dominic rolled instantly, taking the brunt of the falling debris on his shoulders, his body completely shielding mine as plaster and concrete chunks rained down around us. The shockwave felt like a physical blow to the chest, driving the air from my lungs.
"Move! Behind the surgical bay!" Dominic roared into my ear over the deafening clatter of automatic fire.
He didn't hesitate. He came up on one knee, his rifle spitting fire into the charging mercenaries. Two of the new attackers went down instantly, their armor shredded by Dominic's lethal, unerring aim. But these weren't standard syndicate enforcers—they moved with the terrifying speed and tactical coordination of Tier-One black-ops contractors.
Across the room, chaos reigned. Falcone was screaming in Italian, diving behind the central computer bank as his own bodyguards were cut down by the new arrivals.
"Helena, you bitch!" Falcone shrieked, clutching his shoulder as a bullet grazed his arm. "Who are they?!"
Helena didn't answer. She was already retreating toward an auxiliary maintenance tunnel at the rear of the bunker, flanked by two of the masked contractors. She looked back once, her eyes meeting mine through the swirling haze of smoke and pulverized mortar. There was no mother in those eyes. There was only the cold, sociopathic hunger of a woman who had orchestrated the destruction of everyone in the room to claim the prize for herself.
She had played Falcone just as she had played my father.
"Enzo!" Dominic barked into his comm, but only static screeched back. The blast had severed the antenna array, trapping us beneath tons of subterranean earth.
"Dominic, your side!" I screamed.
The shrapnel wound from the manor had torn open completely. Dark, arterial crimson was soaking through his tactical vest, staining his dark shirt. He was losing blood fast, his face turning an alarming shade of pale grey beneath the grime of the explosion.
"I'm fine," he grunted through clenched teeth, though his breathing was shallow, rattled by the impact.
"You're bleeding out!"
"Then we kill them quickly," he snarled.
He thrust an extra magazine into my hand. "Cover the left flank. Shoot anything that moves past that steel pillar. Can you do that, Tessa?"
I looked at the pearl-handled gun in my hand. My hands were coated in grey dust, my knees bruised, but inside my chest, the terror had burned away into a pure, cold fury. My mother had sentenced me to death from the day I was born. She had tried to kill the only man who had ever truly protected me.
"Watch the right," I told him.
I leaned around the corner of the overturned steel surgical table. A contractor in urban camo was advancing cautiously, his rifle raised, clearing the debris.
I didn't wait for him to see me. I raised the weapon with both hands, aligned the sights with his chest, and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
The heavy rounds slammed into his tactical vest, staggering him backward. Before he could recover, I adjusted my aim upward and fired once more. The fourth round caught him beneath the rim of his helmet. He collapsed instantly, motionless on the rubble.
Dominic let out a ragged, approving breath beside me as he dropped two more shooters attempting to flank from the maintenance bay.
Across the room, the gunfire abruptly tapered off.
Falcone lay on his back near the ruined console, riddled with bullets, his chest rattling with a dying gasp. The remaining three mercenaries looked at the bodies of their fallen comrades, then at the entrance to the escape tunnel where Helena had vanished. Realizing the contract had gone sideways, they deployed two high-intensity smoke canisters and retreated into the darkness of the maintenance hatch, sealing the hydraulic bulkhead behind them with a heavy, echoing clang.
Silence fell over the shattered bunker, broken only by the hiss of ruptured hydraulic lines, the flicker of dying halogen lights, and Dominic’s ragged, labored breathing.
He slumped back against the base of the surgical table, his rifle slipping from his bloodied fingers.
"Dominic!"
I dropped to my knees beside him, tearing open his vest with trembling fingers. The shrapnel wound on his flank was gushing blood, pooling across the cold concrete.
"Hey... look at me," I pleaded, pressing both of my hands firmly against the gaping wound. The heat of his blood surged between my fingers. "Dominic! Look at me! Stay awake!"
His dark eyes, usually so sharp and terrifying, struggled to focus on my face. He reached up with a blood-smeared hand, his fingers weakly brushing against my cheek, leaving a smear of red on my skin.
"The ring..." he whispered, his voice fading into a terrifying rasp. "Did it... did it stay on?"
I choked back a sob, raising my blood-drenched left hand to show him the gleaming gold band. "It’s on, you idiot. It’s right here. You aren't leaving me alone in this hell. You hear me? You promised me, Dominic! You said anybody who comes for me comes through you!"
A faint, defiant smile touched his pale lips. "Then... nobody touches you."
His eyes rolled back, and his head slumped against his chest. His hand slipped from my cheek, falling limp onto the concrete.
"Dominic!" I screamed, shaking his broad shoulders. "DOMINIC!"
Nothing. Only the faint, dying pulse beneath his jaw.
I was trapped sixty feet underground. My husband was bleeding to death. My mother had fled with an army of private contractors, leaving me with a genetic death sentence ticking inside my veins.
I looked at the heavy steel bulkhead that Helena had escaped through. Then I looked at the collapsed main entrance.
May you like
And then, I heard the faint, rhythmic thud of sledgehammers and hydraulic cutters on the other side of the collapsed rubble.
***
