Chapter 6 - Ambush at St. Jude's
"Get down!" Vincent shouted, throwing his body over Elena’s bed to cover her with his own frame as drywall, dust, and glass rained down upon them.
Outside in the corridor, the thunder of submachine guns was deafening. Victor Vane hadn't waited for nightfall—he had sent a suicide squad of eight heavily armed hitmen disguised as paramedics directly into the hospital to execute Elena and anyone standing near her.
"Boss!" Frank’s voice bellowed over the gunfire from the doorway. Frank lunged into the room, crouching low, holding a heavy shotgun, blasting two rounds back into the hallway that sent a hitman crashing backward into a medical cart. "They hit the ground floor simultaneously! They compromised the rear service elevator!"
"Get her to the secure room behind the vault!" Vincent commanded, drawing his heavy chrome .45 caliber pistol from beneath his jacket.
"We can't move her, Boss! The hallway is pinned down by two guys with assault rifles!" Frank shouted back, reloading his shotgun with lightning speed.
Vincent’s eyes burned with cold rage. They had brought war into a hospital. They had come for the woman he had sworn to protect.
"Cover me," Vincent said flatly.
"Boss, no! You don't have body armor on!" Frank yelled.
Vincent didn't care. The passive man who had spent thirty years hiding behind desks and bodyguards was gone.
Frank leaned out into the hallway, unleashing three rapid shotgun blasts that forced the attackers to take cover behind an upturned gurney.
Vincent stepped out into the smoky, bullet-riddled corridor like an apex predator. He didn't rush. He moved with terrifying, icy precision.
A hitman stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, raising an AK-47—Vincent raised his pistol and fired two shots through the man’s chest before he could pull the trigger.
A second gunman rounded the corner near the nurses' station—Vincent stepped sideways, letting the burst of bullets hit the drywall beside him, then fired a single round clean through the attacker's forehead.
In less than twenty seconds, the four remaining hitmen lay dead or dying on the linoleum floor. The hallway fell into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by the sound of dripping water from shattered fire sprinklers.
Vincent stood in the middle of the corridor, his gun smoking in his hand, his suit covered in white drywall dust.
Tony came sprinting up the emergency stairs, his suit jacket torn, holding a pair of pistols. He stopped dead when he saw Vincent standing over four dead hitmen alone.
"Boss!" Tony gasped, out of breath. "Are you hit?"
"I'm fine," Vincent said, checking his magazine and slapping a fresh one into his gun. "Where did they come from?"
"A stolen ambulance," Tony reported, his face grim. "Boss... Victor didn't just attack here. He sent another squad to the docks. They burned two of Sal's warehouses."
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Vincent turned slowly, looking back at Room 308 where Elena was weeping in terror.
"He wants a war," Vincent murmured, his voice sending a chill through the entire hall. "Then let's end it today."
