Chapter 17 - The Ghost
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Norah fired blindly into the smoke, emptying her magazine.
But no one shot back.
Instead, she heard the sickening sound of hand-to-hand combat. Bones snapping, muffled grunts, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
The smoke began to clear, pulled away by the ventilation system. Standing in the doorway, covered in soot, blood, and holding a combat knife, was Damian.
He was breathing heavily, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of the Romano guards.
Norah dropped the empty gun. Her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor, a sob tearing from her throat.
Damian crossed the room in an instant, dropping his knife and pulling her into a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. He buried his face in her hair, his massive frame shaking slightly.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered fiercely.
"How did you survive?" she choked out, gripping his shirt.
"Marco arrived at the cabin a minute after you went down the trapdoor. We took them out. Then I drove at a hundred miles an hour to get to the tower," Damian said, pulling back to look at her face. "You got it open."
He looked at the empty safe, then at the canvas bag in her hands.
"I have it all," Norah said, her tears stopping as the cold resolve returned. "Everything we need to end this."
Damian helped her to her feet, his eyes shining with a dangerous mixture of pride and awe. "Then let's end it."
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They didn't sneak out of the building. With the ledger in hand, Damian no longer needed to hide. He pulled a radio from one of the dead guards.
"Carmine," Damian said into the comms, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "I have the vault. Meet me in the penthouse boardroom in ten minutes. Or I send the files to the FBI, and you all spend the rest of your lives in a federal supermax."
