Chapter 17 - The Rescue
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The sound of explosions shook the concrete foundation of the basement. Dust rained down from the ceiling onto my hair.
Volkov paused, his cruel smile faltering. The gunfire echoing from upstairs was deafening, a relentless, roaring thunder of automatic weapons and breaching charges.
“He is here,” Volkov muttered, drawing a heavy revolver from his coat. He looked at his guards. “Hold the stairs. If Caruso comes down, execute the girl.”
Volkov cowardly retreated toward a rusted maintenance tunnel at the back of the basement, abandoning his men and Marcus entirely.
Marcus was sobbing in the corner, curled into a pathetic ball on the dirty floor. “We’re going to die! He’s going to kill us all!”
The metal door at the top of the stairs blew off its hinges with a concussive blast that ruptured my eardrums. Smoke poured down the stairwell.
Volkov’s guards raised their weapons, firing blindly into the smoke.
They were met with a terrifying, overwhelming wave of return fire. The three Russian guards dropped instantly, shredded by bullets, their bodies tumbling down the concrete steps.
Through the thick, gray smoke, a figure descended.
Dante walked down the stairs. His face was covered in soot and blood, his tailored suit ruined by the violence. He held a smoking pistol in his right hand. He looked like the devil incarnate, completely devoid of mercy.
His silver eyes scanned the basement, locking instantly onto me tied to the chair.
The murderous rage in his face vanished, replaced by an agonizing, raw relief. He sprinted across the room, dropping his weapon to the floor, and pulled a tactical knife from his belt. He sliced the heavy zip-ties binding my wrists and ankles in two swift motions.
I collapsed forward, my numb legs giving out.
Dante caught me, dropping to his knees. He crushed me against his chest, burying his face in my neck, his broad shoulders trembling violently.
“I’ve got you,” Dante choked out, his voice cracking, pressing desperate kisses to my hair. “I’ve got you, Emma. You’re safe.”
“I knew you would come,” I sobbed, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, inhaling the scent of smoke and his cologne.
“Dante! Please!”
The pathetic, weeping voice broke the moment.
Dante slowly pulled back from me. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto Marcus, who was cowering in the corner. The terrifying, cold monster returned to Dante’s face.
Dante stood up slowly, picking up his discarded pistol.
“No, Dante, please! Volkov made me do it!” Marcus shrieked, scrambling backward against the wall.
“Don’t,” I whispered, placing a trembling hand on Dante’s arm. “He’s not worth it. Let him live with his cowardice.”
Dante looked at me, the tension in his jaw jumping. He slowly lowered the gun.
“You are right,” Dante said softly. He looked back at Marcus. “You aren't worth the bullet. But you belong to the shadows now.”
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Dante signaled to his men pouring down the stairs. “Take him. Leave him in the darkest hole you can find. Make sure he never sees the sun again.”
Marcus screamed as Silas dragged him away into the darkness.
