Part 6: The Longest Night
The underground tunnel was cold and damp, carved directly into the bedrock of the island. It led from the basement of the house to a hidden boathouse tucked inside a sea cave. Santos led the way, his flashlight cutting through the heavy gloom.
Behind us, we could hear the heavy thud of tactical boots echoing through the stone corridors. They had entered the house.
"They're tracking our heat signatures," Santos muttered, stopping at a junction in the tunnel. He turned to me, his expression grave. "Emily, take this." He pressed a small silver compact pistol into my hand. "If anyone who isn't me or Dominic opens that boathouse door, you use it."
"Santos, no, stay with us," I pleaded.
"I have to hold the choke point, or none of us make it off this island," he said, before turning back into the darkness, his rifle raised.
I ran the remaining distance to the boathouse alone, my boots splashing through shallow pools of seawater. Adriana began to cry, frightened by the roaring of the ocean inside the cave. I huddled behind a stack of wooden crates near the small zodiac boat, rocking her desperately, praying to every god I knew.
Minutes felt like hours. The sounds of gunfire echoed down the tunnel—short, sharp pops followed by a heavy, terrifying silence.
Then, footsteps approached the boathouse door.
They were slow. Heavy. Unsteady.
I raised the silver pistol with both hands, my fingers shaking so violently the barrel wobbled. The iron door groaned as it was pushed open. A tall silhouette stood in the doorway, framed by the stormy night outside.
I squeezed my eyes half-shut, ready to pull the trigger.
"Emily..."
The voice was barely a whisper, ragged and weak, but I would recognize it anywhere.
I dropped the gun. It clattered against the stone floor as I rushed forward. Dominic stumbled into the room, collapsing against the wooden crates. His jacket was torn to shreds, and a dark, heavy stain covered the entire left side of his shirt. But his eyes were fixed on us, bright with an unyielding survival instinct.
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"Dominic!" I cried, falling to my knees beside him.
"I told you..." he gasped, offering a bloody, triumphant smile. "I would crawl out of hell if I had to. Volkov is dead. His empire is gone. It's over, Emily. It's finally over."
