Chapter 9 - The Garage Ambush
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They descended thirty-nine flights of stairs in absolute silence. The physical exhaustion was burning in Elena’s legs, but the adrenaline kept her moving. Dante took the lead, sweeping every landing before allowing her to proceed.
When they finally reached the ground floor, the heavy steel door leading to the subterranean parking garage stood slightly ajar.
Dante held up a hand, signaling Elena to stop. He pressed his back against the concrete wall, listening intently. The garage was entirely too quiet. There were no sounds of Silas’s strike team securing the perimeter.
“Something is wrong,” Dante whispered, his jaw tight. “Silas should have locked this level down by now.”
He pushed the door open an inch, peering into the cavernous, dimly lit garage. Emergency backup lights cast long, sickly yellow shadows across the concrete pillars and parked luxury vehicles.
Suddenly, a blinding spotlight snapped on from the far end of the garage, pinning them in a harsh circle of white light.
“Step out of the stairwell, Dante,” a smooth, aristocratic voice echoed through the concrete cavern. “Or my men will shoot through the door and kill you both.”
Dante’s blood ran cold. It wasn't Raymond Cole’s voice.
It was Arthur Whitaker. Elena’s father.
Dante looked at Elena. Her face had drained of all color, her hands shaking as she gripped her pistol. The betrayal of hearing her own father orchestrating their murder was a blow heavier than any bullet.
“Stay behind me,” Dante ordered fiercely.
He kicked the stairwell door open and stepped out into the garage, shielding Elena entirely with his body.
Standing thirty yards away, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries, was Arthur Whitaker. He wore a tailored cashmere overcoat, looking like a CEO closing a merger rather than a man overseeing an execution.
“Arthur,” Dante said, his voice echoing coldly across the concrete. “I must admit, teaming up with Raymond Cole is a bold move for a man who claims to value peace.”
“Peace is an illusion for the weak, Dante,” Arthur smiled, a chilling, emotionless expression. “I value expansion. Your death tonight provides exactly that. It’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”
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Arthur looked past Dante, his eyes locking onto his daughter.
“Elena, sweetheart,” Arthur called out softly, sickeningly sweet. “Step away from him. Come to your father. The charade is over. You did your job perfectly.”
