Chapter 13 - Staring Down the Barrel
The gunshot echoed like a cannon in the warehouse.
The bullet struck Alessandro high in the center of his chest.
The impact drove him backward into the container.
He slid down the steel wall, his rifle clattering across the floor.
“NO!” I shrieked.
The world stopped spinning.
All the air rushed out of my lungs.
I scrambled across the floor, throwing myself onto Alessandro’s chest.
Blood was pumping rapidly through his tactical vest, soaking my hands in hot
red.
“Alessandro! Stay with me! Look at me!” I sobbed, pressing both hands against
the wound.
He coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
He looked up at me through half-closed eyes.
His hand rose weakly, his bloody fingers touching my cheek.
“Sophie...” he whispered. “You... you did it.”
“Don't you dare die!” I screamed at him, tears pouring onto his chest. “Don't
you dare leave me here alone!”
Footsteps clicked on the concrete behind me.
Ambassador Vaneau stood over us.
He had discarded his empty pistol and drawn a curved combat knife from his boot.
His eyes were completely wild.
“You ruined twenty years of planning, you little gutter bitch,” Vaneau hissed.
He raised the blade with both hands.
“Now you die together.”
Before the blade could descend, a shot rang out.
Vaneau gasped.
A bullet hole appeared directly through his right knee.
He collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony.
Standing twenty feet away, holding a smoking revolver with trembling hands, was
Camilla.
Her makeup was completely washed away by tears.
Her hair was a tangled mess.
She looked at Vaneau with pure hatred.
“Nobody calls me a brainless cow,” Camilla whispered, her voice shaking
violently.
Vaneau tried to crawl toward the knife.
Federal agents in tactical armor smashed through the warehouse doors.
Flashbangs lit the room with blinding light.
Dozens of laser sights converged on Vaneau and Camilla.
“FBI! DON'T MOVE! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”
Camilla dropped the revolver and raised her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Paramedics sprinted through the smoke with a stretcher.
“I have a gunshot wound to the upper chest!” a medic yelled, sliding down beside
Alessandro.
“Keep pressure on it!” I screamed, refusing to let go of his chest.
“Miss, you have to let us work!” the paramedic pulled me back.
Alessandro reached out, his bloody fingers locking around my wrist with the last
ounce of his strength.
He pulled me down to his lips.
“I told you...” he gasped, his voice barely audible over the sirens.
“I told you I’d never let you go.”
His grip went limp.
His eyes rolled back.
The monitors shrieked with a flatline tone.
“We’re losing him! Charge the defibrillator!”
They hauled him onto the stretcher and sprinted toward the ambulance.
May you like
I collapsed on the bloody concrete floor, screaming his name until my throat
tore raw.
