Chapter 16 - The Breach in the Snow
The gunfire erupted on the snow-covered terrace with the sharp, violent cracks of suppressed automatic rifles.
The eight mercenary operatives moved with military precision, clearing the stone fountain and advancing toward the French glass doors of the grand ballroom. They were elite, hardened contractors paid millions to execute a high-profile assassination in the dead of night.
They had no idea they had walked into a slaughterhouse.
Before the lead operative could place a breaching charge on the glass, the terrace floodlights detonated in blinding flashes of white phosphorus.
From the second-story balconies, Rossi marksmen opened fire with pinpoint accuracy. Three operatives collapsed into the red-stained snow before they could raise their weapons.
Dominic stepped out from the shadowed archway of the covered porch, wearing a black tactical overcoat, moving with terrifying, unhurried speed.
He raised his silver pistol, firing two rapid shots that dropped the fourth operative in his tracks. A fifth mercenary swung his submachine gun toward Dominic, but Dominic closed the distance in a blur of motion, knocking the barrel aside with his forearm, driving his elbow into the man’s throat, and sweeping his legs onto the frozen stone.
Within three minutes, seven operatives were dead or incapacitated in the snow.
The eighth man—the strike team leader—was pinned to the ground near the stone balustrade, an assault rifle pressed firmly against his temple by Enzo.
Dominic walked over through the falling snow, stopping above the wounded commander.
“Who sent you?” Dominic asked, his voice low and deadly.
The commander spat blood onto the snow, gasping for breath. “Moretti… Julian Moretti is waiting at the abandoned airfield in Calverton… he has a private jet fueled for Montreal…”
Dominic leaned down, staring into the mercenary’s eyes.
“Tell him New York is closed,” Dominic whispered.
A single suppressed shot cut through the howling wind.
May you like
Dominic turned to Enzo, wiping the snow from his collar.
“Fuel the helicopter,” Dominic ordered. “We’re going to Calverton.”
