Chapter 3 - Blood in the Hallway
Gabriel’s demeanor changed in a microsecond.
The amused, captivated billionaire vanished. In his place stood the predator. The mafia boss whose word dictated life and death across the city of Chicago.
In one fluid motion, Gabriel caught Leah’s wrist, pulling her behind him as he dropped into a low, tactical stance. His right hand dipped beneath his left armpit, drawing a sleek, suppressed 9mm Walther pistol from a concealed shoulder holster with terrifying speed.
"Stay behind me," he whispered, his voice like sliding ice.
"Who—who is that?" Leah whispered, peering past his broad shoulder.
"People who don't like missing money," Gabriel muttered grimly.
The heavy wood of the apartment door splintered with a deafening *CRACK*.
A heavy iron crowbar ripped through the lock, sending the deadbolt flying across the room to clatter against the linoleum. The door swung wide open, revealing three men in dark tactical gear, balaclavas concealing their faces, each holding silenced submachine guns.
They didn't hesitate. The lead intruder raised his weapon—
Gabriel fired twice.
*Puff. Puff.*
The lead gunman dropped instantly, a clean red circle blooming on his tactical vest as he collapsed into the doorway.
Chaos erupted in the cramped hallway. The second gunman opened fire, wood splinters exploding from the doorframe as bullets chewed through the plaster walls. Leah gasped, dropping low as Gabriel shoved her toward the kitchenette, using the small refrigerator as makeshift cover.
Gabriel returned fire with cold, robotic precision. One round caught the second attacker in the shoulder, spinning him into the wall. The third intruder lunged forward with a combat knife, aiming straight for Gabriel’s blind spot.
"Gabriel!" Leah screamed.
Gabriel didn't look. With cat-like reflexes, he pivoted on his heel, caught the attacker’s knife-wielding wrist mid-air, and drove the palm of his free hand upward into the man's chin with bone-shattering force. The man went limp before he even hit the floor.
Silence descended on the apartment once more, broken only by the hiss of a punctured steam pipe and the heavy, ragged breathing of the two survivors in the room.
Gabriel stood amidst the wreckage, his suit jacket ruined by plaster dust, his gun raised as he scanned the corridor outside. Finding it empty, he clicked the safety on with his thumb and slipped the weapon back into his holster.
He turned back to Leah, his eyes wide with a frantic, suppressed fury.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, rushing to her side and running his hands over her shoulders and arms, checking for blood.
"No—no, I'm fine," Leah stammered, her chest heaving as she stared at the unconscious bodies sprawled across her ruined doorway. "Gabriel... who were they?"
"Men sent by Viktor Vance," Gabriel said through clenched teeth, his jaw tight as iron. "The Russian syndicate. They’ve been auditing their own books, and they realized someone stole four million dollars from their offshore accounts through Mercer Holdings conduits."
He looked down at her, the reality of the situation crashing down between them.
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"They didn't come for the money, Leah. They came for the hacker."
***
