Chapter 12 - THE AMBUSH
|
Gunfire exploded through the darkness like firecrackers inside a tin can.
Screams of terrified socialites echoed off the high vaulted ceilings of the Plaza Hotel.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the grand ballroom in strobes of violent orange light.
"Clary!" I roared over the deafening chaos, drawing two suppressed semi-automatic pistols from beneath my tuxedo jacket.
I fired three double-taps into the shadows, dropping three of Moretti's hitmen who were rushing toward the staircase.
"Declan!"
Her voice was distant, coming from the service corridor near the kitchen freight elevators.
"She's been taken, Boss!" Arthur shouted over the sound of automatic fire, returning shots from behind an overturned marble banquet table.
"Moretti's extraction team grabbed her through the pantry doors!"
A wave of pure, unfiltered fury wiped out every trace of rational thought from my brain.
I didn't care about the summit.
I didn't care about the alliances.
I didn't care about the five hundred guests trampling each other to reach the Fifth Avenue doors.
I sprinted toward the kitchen corridor, kicking open the swinging steel doors with enough force to warp the hinges.
The tiled hallway was smeared with fresh blood.
Two of my loyal perimeter guards lay dead near the loading dock, their weapons emptied.
Through the open bay doors of the alleyway, I saw the taillights of a black unmarked van screeching into the rainy New York night.
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
I ripped it out and pressed it to my ear.
"Declan," Don Moretti's raspy voice purred through the speaker.
"You should have kept your little bird in her cage."
"If you want to see her alive, come to Pier 42 alone."
"Bring the deed transfers to the Brooklyn shipping terminals signed in your own blood."
"You have thirty minutes."
"Moretti," I growled, my voice shaking the concrete walls of the loading dock.
"If you lay a single finger on her hair, I will not just kill you."
"I will erase your entire name from history."
The call disconnected with a sharp click.
I turned toward Arthur, who had just burst into the kitchen with six of my elite soldiers fully armed with combat rifles.
May you like
"Call the armory," I ordered, my eyes turning pitch-black with murderous resolve.
"We're going to war."
