Chapter 4 - The 14th Floor
The 14th floor was dead silent. The glass walls of the corporate offices overlooked the sprawling city skyline, where the first morning light was beginning to bleed through the gray smog. But inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and spilled coffee.
Vincent’s men moved like shadows, clearing the cubicles with practiced precision. Vincent kept Sophia close, his hand resting on the small of her back as they approached the heavy double doors of the CFO's private suite.
The lock had been melted through with a thermite charge.
Vincent kicked the door open, his weapon drawn. Inside, the room was a disaster. Filing cabinets were overturned, papers scattered like snow across the plush carpet. Sitting at the massive glass desk was a woman, her hands zip-tied behind her back, her mouth covered with heavy silver duct tape. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face bruised.
"Mommy!" Sophia cried, breaking away from Vincent’s grip and sprinting across the room.
"Sophia, wait!" Vincent shouted, but the little girl had already thrown her arms around her mother’s neck.
Elena Vance gasped through her nose, her body shaking as her daughter wept into her shoulder. Vincent moved quickly, pulling a combat knife from his boot and slicing through the plastic restraints on Elena’s wrists. He peeled the tape from her mouth gently, his eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of a trap.
"Vincent," Elena choked out, her voice raw. "You shouldn't have come up here. It’s what he wanted. He... he has a remote link. The data transfer isn't happening from my terminal. It’s a mirror. He’s on the roof!"
"Marco," Vincent growled.
"He told me if I didn't input the secondary authorization code, he would drop Sophia off the parking deck," Elena sobbed, clutching her daughter to her chest. "I didn't know she escaped. I told her to hide in the maintenance closet, but she must have run..."
"She saved my life, Elena," Vincent said, his voice dead serious. "She stopped the convoy. If she hadn't, we’d be pieces of metal scattered across the lower deck right now."
Suddenly, the glass windows behind the desk shattered inward in a shower of a thousand glittering shards.
"Down!" Frankie yelled, throwing his body over Elena and Sophia as automatic gunfire chewed through the drywall and the mahogany furniture.
From the ceiling above, tactical ropes dropped through the broken skylights. Men in black combat gear, carrying federal shields and assault rifles, poured into the room with terrifying speed.
"FBI! Nobody move! Drop your weapons!" a sharp, female voice barked through the chaos.
Standing at the threshold of the broken window, holding a smoking service weapon, was Special Agent Rachel Miller. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, severe bun, her eyes burning with a righteous fury that Vincent had seen in lawmen for decades.
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"Vincent Torino," Agent Miller said, stepping over the broken glass, her weapon pointed directly at his forehead. "You are under arrest for racketeering, conspiracy, and the attempted murder of a federal informant. Hands where I can see them."
Vincent slowly raised his hands, but his eyes never left hers. "You're late, Miller. And you're tracking the wrong animal."
