Chapter 4 - The Siege of the Fortress
The peace of the estate shattered into absolute hell.
Automatic gunfire erupted downstairs—a deafening, continuous roar of submachine guns, shattering glass, and exploding drywall that shook the dust from the study’s ceiling.
Dmitri was on his feet instantly.
The moment of tenderness vanished, replaced instantly by the terrifying, hyper-focused predator. He reached under his mahogany desk and pulled out two heavy tactical pistols, racking the slides with smooth, practiced lethal speed.
“Viktor!” Dmitri roared into his shoulder mic.
“They cut the main power, Pakhan!” Viktor’s voice crackled through the comms amidst the sound of gunfire. “They used a commercial cutter to breach the seawall! There are at least thirty men inside the courtyard!”
Dmitri grabbed Elena by the arm, pulling her behind his broad frame as he stepped toward the heavy oak door of the study.
“Nikolai didn't wait for the summit,” Dmitri spat, his eyes dark with rage. “He tracked one of my lieutenants.”
The lights in the study flickered and died, plunging the room into pitch blackness, illuminated only by the red glow of the dying fire and the green emergency lights along the floor.
“Stay behind me,” Dmitri ordered Elena, his voice tight. “If anyone comes through that door who is not me or Viktor, shoot them.”
He pulled a small compact pistol from his ankle holster and slapped it into her palm. It was cold, heavy, and lethal.
“I’m a nurse, Dmitri!” Elena panicked, her hands shaking violently around the grip. “I fix people! I don't shoot them!”
“Tonight, you survive,” Dmitri commanded, his silver eyes flashing in the dim emergency light. “Remember your trauma training, Elena. Focus on the target. Do not freeze.”
BOOM!
An explosion detonated in the grand hallway outside! The heavy oak study doors blew off their hinges, flying into the room in a shower of wood splinters and smoke!
Three men in dark tactical gear flooded through the smoke, their assault rifles raised, lasers cutting through the haze!
Dmitri didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward into the clear, firing four rapid shots—BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The muzzle flashes lit up his fierce, terrifying face like lightning. Two of the attackers dropped instantly, their bodies crashing onto the Persian rug. The third attacker dove behind a leather armchair, spraying the room with 5.56mm rounds!
Bullets tore into the bookshelves, shredding leather-bound volumes in a cloud of paper dust!
Dmitri ducked behind his mahogany desk, pulling Elena down with him. He checked his magazine—three rounds left.
Blood was beginning to soak through his blue silk shirt again; his stitches had torn open under the violent exertion. He let out a low groan of pain, his left hand clutching his ribs.
“Dmitri!” Elena cried, reaching for his side. “You’re bleeding!”
“It doesn't matter,” Dmitri gritted his teeth, his face pale, sweat pouring down his forehead. “He has high-capacity magazines. When he reloads, I will move.”
Across the smoke-filled room, the attacker emptied his magazine into the desk—CLICK.
The dull metallic click of an empty chamber echoed through the silence.
Dmitri lunged out from behind the desk, but his torn rib muscles gave out, sending him falling to one knee with a sharp gasp of agony!
The attacker pulled a secondary pistol from his vest, racking the slide, aiming it straight at Dmitri’s head!
“NO!” Elena screamed.
Instinct took over. The same instinct that had made her jump off the coastal highway into freezing water. The same instinct that refused to let a human life fade in front of her.
Elena stood up from behind the desk, raised the small compact pistol with both hands, brought the front sight alignment straight onto the man’s tactical vest, and pulled the trigger!
BANG!
The heavy bullet struck the attacker dead-center in his ballistic plate. The force of the impact threw him off balance, his shot wildly clipping the ceiling!
Dmitri didn't waste the second she had bought him.
From his knee, he raised his primary weapon and fired a single, clean round directly through the attacker’s throat.
The man collapsed into the smoke, motionless.
Silence descended upon the destroyed study, heavy and thick with the smell of cordite, burning paper, and blood.
Dmitri sat on the floor, breathing heavily, his back against his desk. He looked up at Elena.
She was standing frozen, the compact pistol still raised in her shaking hands, her chest heaving, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.
Dmitri reached up, gently taking the gun from her trembling fingers. He engaged the safety and set it aside. Then he pulled her down onto the floor beside him, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders.
“You saved me again,” Dmitri whispered, his voice hoarse, pressing his forehead against her neck. “Twice in four days, Elena.”
Elena buried her face in his shoulder, her body shaking with violent adrenaline sobs. “I hated it... I hated doing that...”
“I know,” Dmitri murmured, kissing her hair gently. “I know, moya zvezda. My star.”
The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway outside.
Viktor stepped through the smoke, covered in soot, carrying a heavy assault rifle. Behind him stood six surviving members of Dmitri’s elite security force.
“The house is clear, Pakhan,” Viktor reported, his voice tight with fatigue. “We killed eighteen of Nikolai’s hit squad. The rest retreated to the boats. But our transport jet in Boston has been compromised.”
Dmitri pulled himself up, using the edge of the desk for support. Elena helped him stand, keeping her shoulder firmly under his arm.
Dmitri looked at Viktor, his silver eyes cold, dark, and utterly merciless.
“Then we do not fly to Switzerland,” Dmitri said quietly. “And we do not wait for tomorrow night.”
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He looked at Elena, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, pulling her face close to his.
“Tonight,” Dmitri declared, “we take New York.”
