Chapter 7 - The St. Regis Ambush: Surviving a Hit Squad in Four-Inch Louboutins
The kiss ended only when the elevator chimed, opening onto the penthouse suite. But there was no time for romance; the scent of cordite hung heavy in the corridor air.
"Down!" Larkin roared, shoving me behind a heavy marble pillar just as the glass windows of the penthouse shattered inward under a hail of automatic gunfire.
The Castigliones hadn't waited for midnight. They had sent an elite hit squad to neutralize Larkin while he was isolated at the top of the hotel. High-caliber rounds chewed through the antique furniture, tearing down the velvet drapes and showering the room in shards of razor-sharp crystal.
Larkin returned fire with surgical precision, dropping two masked shooters in the foyer. But there were at least four more advancing through the smoke.
"I need three minutes to reroute the terminal’s security overrides!" I shouted over the deafening roar of gunshots, crouching behind the pillar as concrete dust filled the air.
"You have two!" Larkin yelled back, ejecting an empty magazine and slamming a fresh one home. "Cover my left!"
I kicked off my steel-tipped stilettos to gain traction on the slick, glass-covered floor. Reaching behind the bar, I pulled a spare Glock from the hidden magnetic holster Larkin kept under the counter—a secret compartment I had discovered during an inventory audit two years ago.
A shooter rounded the corner, leveling an assault rifle at Larkin’s exposed flank.
I didn't hesitate. I raised the pistol with both hands, aimed for center mass, and pulled the trigger three times. The man collapsed instantly, his rifle skittering across the floor.
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Larkin looked over his shoulder, his eyes flashing with raw adrenaline and wild admiration. "Remind me never to deny your requests for a salary increase."
"You couldn't afford me anyway," I smirked, tapping the final override sequence into my phone. "Terminal locked down. The Castiglione train is trapped in the tunnel."
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