Chapter 49 - Storming the Spire
We hit the seventy-ninth floor like an avalanche of vengeance.
Dante moved with superhuman speed, breaching the security mezzanine with a tactical shotgun, obliterating Castiglione's private defense squad before they could bring their heavy machine guns to bear. Marcus moved in perfect synchronization with him, clearing the blind corners with cold, terrifying military efficiency.
I was right behind them, twin sidearms barking as we advanced down the opulent marble corridors of the executive floor. Glass shattered, alarm sirens wailed into the stormy night, and the sprinkler systems activated, showering the blood-spattered Persian rugs with cold water.
We reached the central elevator bank leading to the apex penthouse. Dante slammed his palm onto the biometric terminal, using his syndicate clearance to override the lockdown protocols.
*BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. ACCESS GRANTED.*
The heavy brass doors slid open. We stepped inside the express lift, ascending into the cloud-shrouded pinnacle of the tower while Lake Michigan raged like a black sea thousands of feet below us.
When the doors opened onto the eightieth-floor penthouse, the scene that greeted us was an abomination of wealth and cruelty.
The vaulted room, walled entirely in bulletproof floor-to-ceiling glass, looked out over the blinding blizzard engulfing Chicago. In the center of the room, strapped to a medical extraction chair, was seven-year-old Mateo, his mouth taped shut, his eyes wide with terror but filled with fierce defiance.
Standing beside him, holding a pneumatic bone-marrow extraction drill against Mateo's small collarbone, was Victoria Vance—the mistress Dante had staged his betrayal with, her face twisted in a manic sneer.
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And seated on a high-backed leather chair behind her was Castiglione, connected to an artificial ventilator, his withered hand resting on the detonator of a synchronized demolition array wired directly into the glass perimeter.
***
