Chapter 6 - Shadow on the Fire Stairs
The assault was professional. There were no shouts, no chaotic running—just the disciplined, rhythmic cadence of combat boots moving rapidly up the concrete fire escape toward the penthouse level.
Rocco moved to the heavy steel door that led to the emergency staircase. He plugged an optical fiber cable beneath the weather stripping, syncing the feed to the monocle display hooked over his right ear.
Four men. Full tactical kit, unmarked black fatigues, submachine guns equipped with barrel shrouds. Leading them was a tall figure in a tailored black trench coat, high leather boots, and hair pulled tightly into a severe bun.
Victoria.
In her gloved hand, she held an electronic override deck that was chewing through the estate's proprietary encryption. The DeMarco family’s private fortress was being unlocked using the Patriarch’s own administrative codes.
"She’s at the forty-second-floor landing," Rocco said in a low whisper, stepping back from the door. "They’ll breach this door in thirty seconds."
The Patriarch stood rigid, staring at the entrance. "She swore an oath to me."
"Oaths don't stop nine-millimeter rounds, sir," Rocco said coldly. He grabbed the Patriarch by the arm and shoved him behind a heavy mahogany credenza reinforced with Kevlar panels. "Stay down. If you raise your head, I won't be able to distinguish you from a target."
"I am the head of this house!" the Patriarch hissed, his pride wounded even as his mortality stared him in the face.
"Right now, you’re just another liability," Rocco replied.
Rocco took his position behind the structural pillar beside the door frame. He reached down to his tactical belt, pulling a magnetic disrupter charge and slapping it against the steel hinges of the fire escape door.
The lock beeped twice. The red light on the electronic keypad turned green.
The door swung inward with deliberate, calculated speed. The first mercenary led with the muzzle of his suppressed weapon, clearing the fatal funnel with practiced efficiency.
He never finished the movement.
Rocco struck like a coiled viper. He seized the barrel of the weapon, wrenching it upward as a muffled three-round burst tore into the plaster ceiling. With his right hand, Rocco drove the butt of his combat knife into the man’s throat, crushing the windpipe. In the same fluid momentum, he spun the dying mercenary around, using his body as a human shield as the second man in the stack raised his weapon.
Bullets ripped through the mercenary's vest with wet, heavy impacts. Rocco returned fire from behind the meat shield, placing two double-taps cleanly through the second shooter’s visor. Both men collapsed into the doorway in a tangle of limbs and blood.
Through the smoke and the strobe of muzzle flashes, Rocco caught sight of Victoria at the landing below. She wasn't fleeing. She stood calmly on the concrete steps, holding an assault rifle at the low ready, a contemptuous smile curving her red lips.
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"Hello, Rocco," she called out, her voice sweet and poisoned. "Did you really think you were the only one who knew how to recruit soldiers?"
***
