Chapter 7 - The Strike at Midnight
The peace inside the penthouse ended three days later.
It was 1:00 a.m. when the city lights outside the massive glass windows suddenly went black.
Not just the penthouse—the entire block of Gold Coast hit a total electrical blackout. The glowing skyline disappeared, plunging the luxury living room into pitch-black darkness.
Two seconds later, the high-pitched red emergency lights along the ceiling flashed to life, humming loudly as backup generators kicked in. An alarm klaxon began to sound—a low, rhythmic pulse echoing through the apartment.
Khloe sat up in her bed, her heart instantly leaping into her throat.
Her bedroom door flew open with a bang. Dominic stepped inside, fully dressed in a black tactical vest over a dark shirt, holding a heavy suppressed rifle in his hands. Three of his elite bodyguards stood in the hallway behind him, their weapons raised.
"Get up, Khloe," Dominic commanded, his voice cold, sharp, and totally focused. "Now."
"What's happening?" Khloe gasped, throwing off the duvet and standing up in her bare feet. "Is it a power outage?"
"Marcus Vance bought off the grid operator," Dominic revealed, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the reinforced bathroom in the center of the suite. "They cut the main lines to disable our electronic defense systems. They're coming up the elevator shafts right now."
Before Khloe could ask another question, a deafening explosion rocked the penthouse.
The heavy steel blast doors leading from the private elevator garage were blown inward with a terrifying roar of twisted metal and shattering glass. The entire building trembled under the force of the blast.
Shouts, automatic gunfire, and breaking glass filled the luxurious penthouse.
"Get inside!" Dominic shoved Khloe into the windowless, reinforced master bathroom, where thick steel plates lined the walls. "Lock the door from the inside! Do not open it for anyone except me! Do you understand?"
"Dominic, wait!" Khloe cried out, grabbing his tactical vest. "They have automatic weapons! You're still recovering!"
Dominic looked down at her hand on his chest, then up into her eyes. A fierce, predatory grin spread across his striking face—the smile of a warrior stepping into his natural element.
"This is my house, Khloe," he whispered, pressing a heavy 9mm handgun into her hand and folding her fingers around the grip. "If anyone other than me opens this door... empty the magazine into their chest."
Before she could speak, he slammed the heavy steel bathroom door shut. She heard the automated lock click into place.
Khloe was trapped in the dim, red-lit room. The noise outside was horrifying.
The heavy THUD-THUD-THUD of high-caliber rifles, the shattering of multi-million-dollar art pieces, the high-pitched screams of dying men, and the concussive force of flashbang grenades rattled the very frame of the building.
Khloe sank to her knees against the cold marble floor, holding the heavy black pistol with both hands, pointing it directly at the steel door. Sweat dripped down her forehead.
10 seconds. 30 seconds. Two minutes.
The gunshots outside grew louder, moving closer to the master bedroom corridor. She heard men shouting in panic—not Dominic’s men, but attackers.
"He's a demon!" a voice screamed from the hallway outside her bathroom. "He was supposed to be wounded! Fall back! Fall—"
The voice was cut short by a brutal burst of silenced rifle fire, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the hardwood floor.
Then, complete, terrifying silence fell over the penthouse.
The only sound remaining was the low, rhythmic hum of the red emergency lights and the frantic sound of Khloe’s own breathing.
She sat motionless on the floor, her hands trembling so hard the gun wobbled in the air.
Slowly, heavy footsteps approached the bathroom door. They stopped directly outside.
Khloe pulled the gun's hammer back with a sharp clack, setting her finger on the trigger. Her entire body went rigid with terror.
The lock on the steel door chimed. The green indicator light flashed.
The heavy door slid open.
Dominic stood in the doorway.
His tactical vest was torn and splatter with dark blood. His cheek was cut by flying glass, a thin crimson trail running down his jawline. His amber eyes burned with an terrifying, lethal intensity that made him look less like a man and more like a mythic god of war.
In his left hand, he was dragging a wounded, bleeding man by the collar of his shirt.
He dumped the man onto the master bedroom floor like a bag of trash.
Khloe gasped, dropping the handgun onto the bathroom tiles.
The man lying broken on the floor, clutching a shattered shoulder and covered in bruises, was Dr. Mark Vance.
"I believe," Dominic said softly, his voice dangerously calm as he stepped into the room, "you know my new prisoner."
Mark Vance looked up from the floor, his face pale with terror, his eyes wide as he recognized Khloe standing in the bathroom doorway in her silk trousers and cashmere sweater.
"Dempsey?" Vance choked out, blood dripping from his mouth. "You... you're working for Russo? You betrayed us?"
"Shut up, Mark," Khloe breathed, staring at her former colleague in utter shock and disgust. "You sent hitmen to my home! You tried to have me killed!"
"Your brother is dead, Doctor," Dominic announced smoothly, stepping over Vance and pulling a silver-plated revolver from his side holster. "My men secured Marcus’s safehouse in River North fifteen minutes ago. His organization has been completely liquidated."
Vance began to weep, babbling hysterically on the floor. "Please, Dominic! Please! My brother forced me into it! I didn't want to hurt the girl! I swear to God!"
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Dominic ignored the begging doctor entirely. He turned his gaze to Khloe, holding the heavy silver revolver out toward her, offering her the handle.
"He targeted you, Khloe," Dominic said coldly. "He broke into your home. He threatened your life. In my world, justice is absolute. Take the gun and finish him."
