Chapter 23
The living room erupted into chaotic, deafening violence. Silas and the elite Romano operatives lunged for their discarded weapons on the floor, rolling and firing in a synchronized, lethal ballet. The East Coast mercenaries, hidden in the shadows, returned a suppressing barrage, their bullets shredding the cheap furniture and tearing through the drywall.
Alessandra didn't dive for cover. She sprinted directly toward Julian, completely ignoring the deadly crossfire erupting around her. Her beautiful, intimidating face was a mask of pure, calculated lethality.
Julian was desperately trying to yank the tactical blade out of his pinned hand, his fair skin pale with shock and excruciating pain. Before he could free himself, Alessandra crashed into him. She drove her knee brutally into his ribs, the impact knocking the wind out of him, and grabbed him by the throat with her manicured hand, pinning him firmly against the wall.
"Where is Vargas?" Alessandra roared over the deafening gunfire, her dark eyes blazing with an icy, unforgiving fire.
"Go to hell!" Julian spat, blood flecking his lips.
Alessandra didn't hesitate. She grabbed the hilt of the tactical blade still embedded in his hand and twisted it violently. Julian let out a horrifying, breathless shriek, his knees buckling under the agonizing pain.
"I will ask you one more time," Alessandra whispered, her voice a low, mesmerizing hum that cut through the chaos. "Where is Vargas?"
"Chicago!" Julian gasped, tears of pain streaming down his face. "He's consolidating the port tariffs! He's operating out of the old Morreti meatpacking plant!"
"Thank you," Alessandra said coldly. She ripped the blade free from his hand, and with a swift, merciless motion, she drove the hilt against his temple, knocking him completely unconscious.
She turned back to the room. Silas and her operatives had methodically neutralized the remaining East Coast mercenaries, securing the perimeter with brutal efficiency. The gunfire ceased, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in its wake.
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Alessandra wiped a drop of Julian's blood from her cheek. She looked over at the couch. Vincent, Francesca, and Bianca were still bound, entirely physically unharmed, but psychologically shattered by the terrifying display of violence they had just witnessed. They stared at Alessandra with a mixture of profound fear and awe.
"Untie them," Alessandra commanded Silas, wiping her blade clean. "And then get them back in their cells. They aren't worth the bullets it would take to execute them."
