Chapter 6 - Gunfire In Geneva And The Secret Code That Proved I Was Far More Dangerous Than A Waitress
The private runway outside Geneva was blanketed in a thick, freezing alpine mist.
The moment the Gulfstream’s stairs touched the tarmac, three black armored Mercedes SUVs swept onto the runway, boxing the aircraft in from the front and rear.
"Stay behind me and keep your head down," Dominic ordered, slipping his silenced pistol into his shoulder holster and pulling a heavy black tactical coat over his frame. His four elite bodyguards formed a tight protective diamond around us as the cabin door swung open.
The cold Swiss air bit into my cheeks as we descended the metal stairs.
Standing beside the lead SUV was not a Swiss customs official, but Mikhail Volkov, flanked by six heavily armed operatives carrying suppressed submachine guns tucked beneath heavy trench coats.
"Mr. Pierce!" Mikhail called out in Russian, clapping his hands with false enthusiasm. “Welcome to Switzerland. Victor has arranged a private summit at our chalet in the mountains. You and your lovely translator will ride with us.”
Dominic looked to me for the translation.
“He says Victor wants us to ride in their vehicle to a mountain chalet,” I translated quickly in a low voice. “Dominic, don't do it. Look at the lead SUV’s suspension. It’s weighed down in the rear—they have a tactical strike team in the trunk, and the driver is wearing a tactical throat mic keyed to a military frequency.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened. He didn't hesitate.
"Tell him we take our own convoy, or the meeting is canceled right here on the tarmac," Dominic said.
I translated his refusal into icy, uncompromising Russian.
Mikhail’s false smile vanished instantly. His eyes turned feral.
“Kill the guards. Take the girl alive—she knows the codes,” Mikhail barked in Russian to his men.
“AMBUSH! GET DOWN!” I screamed in English, grabbing Dominic’s arm and dragging him down behind the aircraft’s heavy titanium landing gear just as a hail of suppressed gunfire shredded the air where we had been standing a second before.
The tarmac erupted into an inferno of tactical chaos.
Dominic’s security team returned fire with ruthless efficiency, dropping two of Mikhail’s gunmen within seconds. Glass shattered, metal pinged violently against the aircraft’s fuselage, and the smell of cordite filled the freezing mist.
"Elena, move toward the hangar!" Dominic shouted over the roar of gunfire, leaning around the wheel well and firing three precise shots that eliminated a shooter advancing from the left flank.
A Russian gunman suddenly lunged around the aircraft engine, raising an assault rifle directly at Dominic’s exposed back.
Dominic was tracking another target; he didn't see him.
Without thinking, my four years of high-threat diplomatic defense training took over. I lunged forward, grabbed a heavy steel wheel-chock from the tarmac, and slammed it with all my strength directly into the side of the gunman's knee.
The man howled in agony, collapsing to one knee. Before he could bring his weapon up, I twisted his wrist, disarmed him with a textbook martial arts disarm, and kicked the rifle across the tarmac straight into Dominic’s waiting hand.
Dominic caught the rifle out of mid-air, fired a single burst that dropped the remaining flanking attacker, and turned to look at me with raw, incredulous awe.
"Waitress, my ass," Dominic breathed, a wild, lethal grin breaking across his soot-stained face. "You're a damn ghost operative."
"Less talking, more running!" I yelled, gesturing toward the open side door of the airport maintenance hangar where our backup convoy was roaring into view.
We sprinted through the mist under covering fire from our team, diving into the reinforced interior of Dominic’s armored Suburban just as the heavy doors slammed shut and the driver floored the accelerator, crashing through the security gates and speeding onto the Geneva highway.
Inside the SUV, Dominic pulled me into his chest, his hands rapidly checking my shoulders, arms, and torso for injuries.
"Are you hit? Elena, look at me—are you bleeding?" His voice wasn't the voice of a cold mafia boss; it was the voice of a man terrified of losing the most precious thing in his world.
"I’m fine," I gasped, my hands resting against his pounding chest. "I’m completely fine."
Dominic let out a ragged breath, wrapping his powerful arms tightly around me, burying his face in my hair as the vehicle tore through the Swiss night.
May you like
"You saved my life back there," he whispered fiercely against my skin.
"We keep each other alive, Dominic," I whispered back, leaning into his warmth and realizing, with terrifying clarity, that I had already fallen hopelessly in love with the most dangerous man in New York.
Related Stories
