CHAPTER 3
The subterranean bunker beneath the Westchester estate looked less like a hideout and more like a high-tech military command center outfitted with floor-to-ceiling tactical monitors.
Dante gently set Maya down onto a plush leather sofa, immediately gesturing toward a female combat medic who was waiting near a fully equipped medical bay.
"Check her vitals, assess the trauma on her back, and ensure the unborn child is completely stable," Dante commanded, stepping back to give the medical professional room to work.
Maya gasped as the medic carefully peeled back the heavy cashmere jacket, applying a soothing antiseptic salve across the angry, raised whip scars left by Damon's sadistic cruelty.
"The baby's heart rate is elevated due to extreme stress, Mr. Moretti," the medic reported after running a portable ultrasound wand over Maya's lower abdomen. "She is ten weeks pregnant, severely undernourished, and shows clear signs of chronic physical abuse."
Dante stood motionless beside the stainless-steel examination table, his hands resting loosely in his trouser pockets while his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched along his cheekbone.
On the main wall display, high-definition thermal cameras captured the outer security perimeter where three matte-black armored heavy SUVs were speeding down the winding estate driveway.
Heavy automatic gunfire suddenly erupted through the speakers, cutting through the quiet hum of the air filtration system as Moretti’s security team engaged the incoming Russian hitmen.
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"They're breaching the main gates, Boss!" the head security officer called out from the central tactical console. "Damon Cross hired the Sokolov syndicate out of Brighton Beach!"
Dante didn't even blink as he watched the tactical display; he pulled a custom, dark-finish tactical firearm from a hidden wall compartment and checked the chamber with practiced precision
