Chapter 45 - Blood on the Marble Terrace
Two men in black tactical gear burst into the room, their suppressed submachine guns raised, scanning the shadows.
They saw only a woman in an evening gown standing behind a heavy desk, illuminated by the cold moonlight. The lead operative sneered, lowering his barrel slightly as he reached for a pair of zip-ties at his belt. "Don't scream, lady. We just want the boy—"
I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence.
I raised Sylvester’s pistol with both hands, centered the front sight on his chest, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot deafened the room in an explosive flash of fire. The operative slammed backward into the doorframe, clutching his shattered chest rig, falling hard onto the carpet.
The second man cursed, raising his rifle, but before he could acquire his target, a shadow materialized behind him like an avenging wraith.
A massive, gloved hand seized the mercenary by the throat, slamming him face-first into the doorframe with bone-crushing force. The rifle clattered uselessly to the floor. Sylvester stepped into the moonlight, his overcoat stained with ocean mist and fresh blood, his eyes burning with absolute, unbridled fury.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't speak. With one brutal, calculated twist of his arm, he broke the infiltrator's neck and let the limp body drop to the floor like a sack of stones.
Silence settled over the room, thick with the smell of cordite and copper.
Sylvester stood there for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, his gaze sweeping the room until it locked onto me. He saw the gun still smoking in my steady hands, the shell casing rolling across the desk, and the fallen intruder at my feet.
Slowly, the feral darkness in his eyes softened. He walked across the room, took the heavy weapon gently from my fingers, engaged the safety, and set it on the desk. Then, without a word, he pulled me against his chest with crushing strength.
"You're safe," he rasped into my hair, his voice raw with an emotion I had never heard in him before. "You held the line, Elena. My god, you held the line."
"Lucas is in the vault," I breathed, clinging to his coat as the adrenaline finally crashed through my veins.
"He's safe," Sylvester whispered, kissing my temple. "The dock is secure. Rostov’s men are dead."
Marcus stepped through the doorway, his arm wrapped in a bloody field dressing, carrying a tablet. "Boss... we intercepted Rostov’s emergency signal to the flagship. We have their battle plans. But there's a problem."
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Sylvester turned, his arm remaining firmly around my waist. "What problem?"
"The *Grand Leviathan* isn't just offshore," Marcus said, turning the tablet screen. "The Grand Duke himself is aboard. And he just issued an open invitation to the entire continental underworld."
