The Paralyzed Mafia Boss Thought She Was Just Another Caregiver

The explosion turned the centuries-old sanctuary into an inferno of flying granite and burning timber.

The shockwave hurled Sadi violently across the floor. Desmond reacted instantly, throwing his body over hers as a six-foot section of an ancient archway crashed down where she had stood a second before, shattering into deadly fragments.

One of Vivienne's contractors was pulverized by falling debris; the other was thrown over the cliff edge into the churning ocean below.

"Move! To the crypt!" Vivienne shouted through the choking dust, blood streaming down the side of her face from a deep laceration on her brow. She clutched the datapad against her ribs, scrambling toward an iron trapdoor beneath the altar.

Outside, the heavy thrum of multi-engine gunships shook the foundations of the cliff. Searchlights—blinding, surgical beams of high-intensity xenon—cut through the rain and dust, illuminating the skeletal remains of the cathedral.

Desmond pulled Sadi to her feet, his arm wrapped around her waist, half-carrying her as secondary explosions tore through the perimeter walls.

"Julian’s vanguard is on the ground!" Desmond yelled over the roar of the assault. "White-uniform hit teams! They’re dropping via fast-rope on the west courtyard!"

"We can't fight them in the open!" Sadi coughed, spitting dust. She drew her weapon, firing three blind shots through the shattered transept where a shadowy figure in white tactical gear had just appeared. The bullets forced the operative back, buying them precious seconds.

Desmond shoved Vivienne down the narrow stone stairs of the crypt, following immediately with Sadi. He slammed the heavy oak-and-iron trapdoor shut, dropping an iron bar across the brackets just as a barrage of 5.56mm rounds chewed through the wood from above.

The crypt was cold, damp, and smelled of centuries of undisturbed decay. In the center of the subterranean vault stood a reinforced steel desk bearing an operational green console, illuminated by the hum of an auxiliary marine generator.

"The interface!" Desmond barked, leveling his weapon at the door. "Vivienne, do it now!"

Vivienne plugged the datapad into the console. "Sadi! The locket! Give it to me!"

Sadi ripped the platinum chain from her neck and handed it over. The base of the sapphire had a micro-aperture. Vivienne inserted the pendant directly into the console’s optical scanner.

A high-pitched tone sounded. The green screen flashed rapidly:

`BIOMETRIC COVENANT DETECTED.`

`MATCH: STERLING-GALLAGHER CIPHER.`

`AUTHORIZING GLOBAL ASSET PURGE... 12% ... 24% ...`

Above them, a muffled boom shook the crypt ceiling. The iron bar on the trapdoor buckled under the blast of a breaching charge.

"They're coming through!" Desmond shouted. He positioned himself behind a stone sarcophagus, aiming his weapon at the stairs. "Sadi, stay behind me!"

"No," Sadi said, taking up a position on the opposite flank, bracing her pistol against the carved stone corner. "We fight together, Desmond."

The trapdoor blew inward.

Smoke and flashbang canisters rained down the stairs. Desmond fired the instant the first flash blinded the staircase, relying entirely on tactical muscle memory. A mercenary fell backward with two center-mass hits. Sadi fired next, taking down an operative attempting to roll into the shadows on the left.

The gunfire inside the enclosed crypt was deafening, the concussive pressure threatening to rupture their eardrums. Desmond took down a third man, but a fourth operative sprayed a full automatic burst across the stone sarcophagus.

A round caught Desmond high in the right shoulder.

Desmond grunted, spun by the impact, his blood splattering across the ancient carved stone. He dropped to one knee, but his left hand snatched his secondary weapon from his hip without missing a beat, putting a bullet through the shooter’s throat.

"Desmond!" Sadi cried out, lunging toward him.

"Keep firing!" he roared, pushing through the agony, his face pale but his eyes burning with demonic ferocity. "Don't let them reach that console!"

`AUTHORIZING GLOBAL ASSET PURGE... 78% ... 89% ...` the terminal chimed rhythmically.

Suddenly, a tall, impeccably dressed figure stepped through the smoke at the top of the stairs, unhurried, holding a submachine gun in one hand and his gold-plated revolver in the other.