Chapter 3 - Smoke and Shadows
“It’s specialized military-grade tear gas mixed with an aerosolized paralytic,” Martha said rapidly, her domestic persona evaporating entirely to reveal sharp, tactical knowledge. “If you inhale two breaths of that vapor, your lungs will seize up in under fifteen seconds.”
Damian stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “Housemaid background, right?”
“My brother wasn't just an accountant, Damian,” Martha said, pulling her gray sleeve up to show a faint tactical tattoo near her inner wrist. “And I didn't spend the last five years working in domestic service. I was a structural engineer for military logistics. Andrew called me two weeks before he vanished and told me to study the Falcone mansion blueprints.”
The white vapor was pouring faster through the bottom of the door now, rising like a malevolent cloud off the wet marble floor.
Damian didn't waste time asking further questions. He grabbed two clean hand towels from the rack, doused them thoroughly under the cold water running from the sink, and shoved one into Martha’s hands.
“Cover your face,” he commanded.
He picked up his semi-automatic weapon from the vanity counter, racked the slide to chamber a round, and grabbed Martha firmly by the forearm.
“Where does the ventilation shaft in this room lead?” Damian asked, pointing to a small, iron-grated intake near the ceiling.
“It connects to the main HVAC trunk above the second-floor hallway,” Martha replied, her voice muffled through the wet cloth. “But it’s too narrow for a grown man.”
“I’m not looking to crawl through it,” Damian said grimly. He raised his weapon, aimed directly at the center of the iron grate, and fired two rapid shots.
The loud reports echoed violently in the enclosed room, but the iron frame shattered, breaking the vacuum seal of the room's ventilation system. The sudden shift in air pressure began pulling the white gas upward toward the ceiling, slowing its advance across the floor.
“Victor knows every security code in this house,” Damian muttered, his jaw set hard. “If he’s flooding the second floor with gas, he’s already shut off the automated fire alarms and disabled the emergency exits.”
“He thinks you’re dead or incapacitated from the sniper round,” Martha added, her eyes scanning the room. “When the gas clears, he’ll come in with his men to collect the bodies and frame it as a rival syndicate hit.”
Damian looked at her, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Then let's make sure Victor gets the surprise he deserves.”
He stepped over to the shower enclosure, grabbed the heavy, solid-brass shower head, and yanked it downward with incredible physical force. The pipe snapped inside the wall with a loud metallic screech, and a high-pressure torrent of hot water began blasting out into the room, creating a thick wall of steam that mixed with the incoming chemical gas.
“The drain,” Martha realized instantly. “The heavy water pressure will force the dense gas toward the floor drain!”
“Get behind me,” Damian ordered, moving toward the bathroom door.
He didn't turn the handle. Instead, he raised his foot and kicked the solid oak door directly near the lock mechanism.
The heavy wood splintered with a loud crack, swinging outward into the hallway.
Through the cloud of steam and chemical haze, two armed men dressed in tactical gear turned their weapons toward the doorway.
Damian didn't hesitate. He fired three precise shots through the fog.
Both men collapsed onto the carpeted corridor floor before they could pull their triggers.
Damian surged out into the hallway, grabbing one of the fallen guards' tactical vests and carbines, tossing the rifle to Martha.
She caught the weapon effortlessly, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency.
Damian looked back at her, raising an eyebrow at her seamless handling of the assault rifle.
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“Military logistics?” he asked dryly.
“ combat logistics,” Martha corrected, her eyes scanning the dim, smoke-filled hallway. “Now where is Victor?”
