Chapter 38
Domenico
I remain standing at the front door long after Zora's car disappears from view. For several moments, I simply stare down the empty driveway, listening to the fading sound of her engine until even that disappears into the morning traffic.
I tell myself I did the right thing. She deserved the truth, no matter how painful it was, and she deserved the space to decide whether she ever wanted to see me again.
That much, at least, is her choice. Yet as I close the front door behind me, an uneasy feeling settles in the back of my mind, one that refuses to leave no matter how many times I try to reason with it.
I spend the next hour attempting to distract myself. I clean my weapons, answer several encrypted messages from people wanting to bid or participate in the next auction, and force myself to review reports from my latest assignment.
Every few minutes, my attention drifts back to the conversation we had over breakfast. The tears in her eyes.
The disbelief on her face. The way she looked at me after learning why I had entered her life.
I had expected anger. I had expected hatred.
What I hadn't expected was the overwhelming feeling that letting her walk out that door had been a mistake.
Eventually, I stop pretending I can concentrate. I reach for my phone and call her.
She doesn’t pick up.
I frown but don't think much of it. She told me she was meeting Sebastian. They had unfinished business, and the last thing she needed was me interrupting whatever conversation they were having. I set the phone back down and force myself to wait.
Thirty minutes later, the feeling in my chest has only grown heavier. I call again. Nothing. This time the call doesn't even ring. I try once more with the same result. Her phone is unreachable.
I lower the device slowly, forcing myself to think rationally.
A dead battery. No signal. She turned it off.
Every explanation sounds perfectly reasonable, yet none of them quiets the instinct telling me something is wrong.
After everything that happened over the last twenty-four hours, Zora wouldn't simply disappear without a word.
The realization settles over me with frightening clarity. This isn't normal.
I'm moving before I consciously decide to.
Within seconds, my computer is powered on and lines of code are racing across the screen as I cut through one security layer after another.
Her office network is heavily encrypted, but I've studied its architecture before.
It takes less than a minute to gain access to the internal surveillance system.
One camera feed after another fills the monitors.
The receptionist and security staff are on their knees, their hands clasped behind their heads while armed men stand over them.
I switch to the lobby. Guests, employees, and visitors are being held together beneath the watch of more gunmen. No one is speaking. No one is moving.
The parking garage. Drivers and security personnel have been forced to the ground between the vehicles, rifles trained on them from every direction.
My stomach tightens as I continue cycling through the feeds. Every floor tells the same story. Everywhere I look, employees and visitors are being held at gunpoint while armed men control every entrance and exit. There is no panic anymore. Only terrified compliance.
The building hasn't been evacuated. It's been occupied.
My pulse begins pounding as I switch to the executive floor.
Conference rooms are filled with frightened staff under armed guard, while the remaining employees stand lined against the walls with their hands raised.
This isn't a hostage situation that spiraled out of control. It's a coordinated takeover.
"What the hell..."
Without hesitating, I open the feed from Zora's office. The image freezes me where I stand.
Zora faces Mikkel across the office while Sebastian leans heavily against a desk. A third man stands between them with his back to the camera.
My blood runs cold. I'm already too late.
"No..." The word escapes my lips before I even realize I've spoken.
Without wasting another second, I retrieve my pistol and two spare magazines from the desk drawer, holster the weapon, snatch my motorcycle keys, and pull on my helmet. By the time the garage door finishes opening, the engine is already roaring beneath me.
The streets of Manhattan become nothing more than obstacles between me and her.
I weave through traffic with barely any regard for speed limits or traffic lights, slipping between cars wherever there's enough space for the motorcycle to fit.
Horns blare behind me, brakes screech, and angry shouts disappear into the wind, but I don't hear any of them.
My entire focus narrows to a single destination.
The closer I get, the faster I ride.
Images of Zora refuse to leave my mind. I remember her refusing to give up on that island even after she was injured. I remember her arguing with me over the smallest things simply because she refused to be intimidated.
I remember the dance at Elysian Haven, the quiet moments we stole away from everyone else, and waking up this morning with her asleep beside me, trusting me enough to let her guard down completely.
I tighten my grip on the handlebars.
I spent months convincing myself revenge was the only thing that mattered. Now there's only one thought in my mind. I am not going to lose her.
By the time I reach her office, I see that the entire building has been taken.
Several unfamiliar SUVs sit outside the entrance while armed men in black tactical uniforms patrol the perimeter with military precision.
They aren't Zora security. I know the company's personnel well enough to recognize every detail of their equipment, and these men are carrying different weapons, using different formations, and communicating through encrypted earpieces.
Even worse, I can see terrified employees gathered inside the lobby, forced onto the floor with their hands raised while gunmen keep watch over them.
Walking through the front entrance isn't an option. So I disappear into the alley beside the building and climb the external maintenance access leading toward the service level. Years of extraction work have taught me one lesson above all else. The quickest route is rarely the safest.
Once inside, I move through the maintenance corridors without making a sound, keeping to the blind spots between surveillance cameras. The building's layout is already familiar to me, allowing me to navigate almost instinctively.
Voices echo ahead. Two guards.
I wait until they reach the narrow service stairwell before stepping from the shadows.
Neither of them has time to raise his weapon.
The first man's rifle is redirected into the wall as my elbow crashes into his throat.
He collapses immediately, gasping for air.
Before the second can react, I drive him into the concrete railing, wrench the pistol from his hand, and strike the back of his neck hard enough to knock him unconscious.
The entire exchange lasts only a few seconds.
I don't waste time. Their radios and weapons disappear into my gear before I continue upward.
The deeper I move into the building, the heavier the resistance becomes. Every floor holds another team searching for intruders, forcing me to adapt with every encounter. Rather than meeting them head-on, I use the building itself against them.
On the fifth floor, I trigger the emergency override on one of the freight elevators before drawing a patrol into the corridor with a deliberately thrown maintenance cart.
The moment all three men step inside the lift to investigate, I slam the doors shut and disable the control panel from outside.
Their fists pound uselessly against the metal doors as the elevator locks between floors, taking three armed men out of the fight without firing a single shot.
Floor after floor, I keep climbing. Every delay feels unbearable. Every second that passes gives Mikkel another second with Zora.
By the time I reach the executive level, my cover is gone. One of the remaining guards spots me the moment I step into the corridor.
"He's here!"
Gunfire erupts almost instantly. Bullets tear through the marble walls as I dive behind a reception desk, shards of stone exploding across the floor.
I don't stay in cover for long. The moment one gunman advances, I slide across the polished floor, sweep his legs out from beneath him, and drive the butt of my pistol into his jaw before he can recover.
A second attacker rushes me from the left.
I catch his wrist, twist the rifle free, and fire a controlled burst into the ceiling above the third guard, forcing him to flinch just long enough for me to close the distance.
One hard strike to the ribs, another to the temple, and he drops beside the first.
The last guard hesitates. That hesitation costs him.
I seize the front of his vest, use his own momentum against him, and hurl him through the glass partition separating the corridor from the conference room.
The impact explodes through the floor as glass rains down around him.
By the time he stops moving, he's unconscious beneath a blanket of shattered shards.
Silence settles over the corridor once more. My breathing remains steady, but my pulse pounds hard enough to feel in my ears. Only one door remains.
Zora's office.
I approach with measured steps, my pistol already raised. Muffled voices drift through the door, confirming what I'd been praying wasn't true. Keeping close to the wall, I ease the door open just enough to look through the narrow gap.
The first thing I see is the blood. Mikkel lies motionless across the carpet, a dark pool spreading steadily beneath his body. Sebastian is slumped against the edge of the desk, one hand clamped over his bleeding arm, his face drained of all color. Then my eyes find Zora.
A man stands directly in front of her, his back to me, the barrel of a pistol pressed against her forehead.
I can't see his face, only the rigid set of his shoulders and the unnerving composure in the way he stands.
The bodies on the floor, the armed men throughout the building, the absolute control he commands without saying a word…
I don't need to see his face to know he's the one in charge.
As though sensing my presence, he slowly turns to face the door. A slow smile spreads across his face.
"So." He says, his voice carrying effortlessly through the silent office. "The Ghost finally arrived."
I don't answer. Every ounce of my concentration narrows to a single point. The gun against Zora's head. The angle. The distance. His stance. Every possible opening.
There will only be one chance. And I don't intend to waste it.