Chapter 8 - The Shattered Salon
The salon’s reinforced glass exploded into thousands of glittering fragments as Helena Vance sprayed automatic fire in a frantic, sweeping arc.
Matteo tackled Anna behind the heavy mahogany wet bar, absorbing the wood splinters that erupted across his back as high-velocity rounds chewed through the cabinetry. Crystal decanters shattered above them, showering them in vintage cognac and pulverized glass.
"She’s out of control," Anna whispered, her cheek pressed against the wet carpet, her breath catching as the deafening gunfire abruptly ceased with a dry, hollow metallic click.
"Empty!" Matteo bellowed.
Anna didn't wait for him to move. She rolled out from behind the shredded bar, staying low, her pistol leveled with two hands.
Helena was frantically trying to jam a fresh magazine into the receiver with trembling, manicured hands. When she saw Anna rising from the debris, she threw the heavy weapon straight at Anna's face.
Anna ducked the flying steel, lunging forward with explosive speed. She slammed her shoulder into Helena’s midsection, carrying both of them across the polished floor until they crashed violently into the wide panoramic glass window overlooking the churning lake.
The glass spiderwebbed under their impact, groaning under the force of the waves outside.
Helena snarled like a cornered beast, her fingers digging viciously into Anna’s wounded wrist. Pain lanced through Anna’s arm, but she refused to yield. She drove her forehead directly into Helena’s nose, feeling the cartilage break with a sickening crunch.
Helena shrieked in pain, stumbling backward, blood pouring over her lips.
Before Helena could recover, Anna swept her boot behind the woman’s heel, slamming Helena flat onto the shattered glass of the salon floor. Anna pinned her with a knee to the sternum, the cold barrel of her pistol pressed flush against the soft hollow beneath Helena’s jaw.
"Move," Anna said, her voice dropping into a register of chilling, absolute finality, "and I will paint this ceiling with your legacy."
Helena froze, her chest heaving against Anna's knee, her blood pooling on the white rug beneath her head. Her cold arrogance was finally gone, replaced by the naked, pathetic terror of a woman who had run out of pawns.
Matteo stepped out from behind the bar, his trench coat torn, blood seeping from a shrapnel cut on his forearm. He held the captured titanium drive in his palm, completely untouched by the carnage.
"The container ship outside," Matteo said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he looked down at Helena. "Who is waiting for you aboard that vessel?"
Helena spat blood onto the floor, a trembling, broken laugh escaping her throat. "You think... you think you won, Matteo? You think I was the top of the pyramid?"
Anna pressed the barrel harder against Helena’s jawline until the skin blanched white. "Answer him."
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Helena looked up into Anna’s merciless hazel eyes, her voice shaking with genuine dread: "The ship isn't a transport. It’s a mobile server facility belonging to the Consortium. Six private syndicates pooling their assets to replace the Rossi empire. And they already have your sister's coordinates in Melbourne."
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