Chapter 4 - The Shadow War
Inside the panic room, the air was cool and smelled of recycled oxygen and sterile metal.
Nora pressed her palms against the steel door, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she felt sick.
“Dante!” she screamed, slamming her fists against the metal. “Dante, answer me!”
No sound came from the other side except muffled pops of distant gunfire and the heavy thud of furniture being overturned.
She turned around, frantically scanning the emergency control panel on the wall. Banks of monitors flickered to life, casting an eerie green glow across the room. They displayed the live camera feeds of the entire penthouse—the bedrooms, the kitchen, the hallways, and the main office.
Nora’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at the screen showing the main office.
Dante was kneeling on one knee behind the executive desk, clutching his bleeding shoulder with his left hand, while his right hand held his pistol steady. Three of Marco’s mercenaries lay motionless on the floor around him.
Marco stood near the shattered window, smirking as he reloaded his rifle.
“End of the line, Dante,” Marco sneered, stepping closer. “The board sends its regards. Say hello to your father for me.”
Nora’s hands flew across the control panel. She didn't know how the estate’s secondary systems worked, but she saw a red toggle labeled ESTATE DEFENSE GRID - SUB-LEVEL OVERRIDE.
Without thinking twice, she flipped the switch.
A high-pitched whine echoed through the penthouse speakers.
On the monitor, Marco froze. The security lights overhead flickered from white to amber. Suddenly, heavy steel security shutters dropped from the ceiling of the outer hallways, slamming down with crushing force, sealing off every exit and trapping Marco and his remaining men inside the master suite.
Marco cursed loudly, spinning around to shoot at the control panel by the door, but the reinforced glass deflected his bullets harmlessly.
On the screen, Dante slowly rose to his feet.
For the first time in six months, Dante Moretti didn't use his wheelchair. He pushed himself up using the edge of the desk, his legs trembling slightly, but holding his weight. He stood tall, towering over Marco in the shattered room.
Marco’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror.
“You... you can walk?” Marco stammered, stepping back.
“I told you,” Dante’s voice echoed through the intercom speakers, cold as glacial ice. “An enemy you can see is a tactical asset.”
Before Marco could raise his rifle, Dante crossed the room with blinding speed, bringing the butt of his pistol down hard across Marco’s temple.
Marco collapsed like a felled tree, unconscious before he hit the carpet.
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The penthouse fell silent.
Nora stared at the monitor, tears streaming down her face as Dante stood alone among the wreckage, breathing heavily, bleeding from his shoulder, but standing firmly on his own two feet.
