Chapter 6 - The Iron Wall
The man holding the sledgehammer barely had time to turn his head before the three-hundred-pound marble pedestal slammed into his ribcage at full speed.
The impact threw him twenty feet down the hallway, where he lay motionless against the wall.
The second shooter turned his weapon, but Adrian stepped around Mara’s shoulder and placed two neat rounds through the man’s forehead.
The hallway went deathly silent except for the crackle of fire downstairs and the frantic sobbing behind the heavy oak door.
Adrian rushed forward, slamming his palms against the wood. “Clara! It’s Dad! Open the door, baby! It’s safe!”
The heavy lock turned, and the door swung open. A twelve-year-old girl with dark eyes and tear-stained cheeks threw herself into Adrian’s arms. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in her hair, his shoulders shaking with silent, desperate sobs.
Mara stood near the staircase, holding the shotgun over her shoulder, her chest heaving as she kept her eyes locked on the smoking lower floor.
Clara looked over her father’s shoulder, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the massive, bruised woman in the soot-stained jumpsuit who was standing guard over them.
“Dad?” Clara whispered, wiping her nose. “Who is she?”
Adrian stood up slowly, keeping one arm wrapped tightly around his daughter’s shoulders. He looked at Mara with a deep, profound respect that went far beyond money or contracts.
“That’s Mara,” Adrian said softly, his voice trembling slightly. “She’s the iron wall, Clara.”
Down below, the sound of approaching police sirens began to echo through the burning trees outside the estate.
Mara lowered her weapon, stepping over to the window to watch the flashing red lights.
“Police are two minutes out,” Mara said, her tone returning to its flat, practical baseline. “You have three legal teams, Adrian. Use them. Tell them your cook came over to drop off some soup and got caught in a home invasion.”
Adrian walked up to her, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Mara... you saved my life twice tonight. You saved my daughter. You can’t go back to flipping burgers at the Rusted Pan.”
Mara looked down at her dirty hands, then out the window toward the city skyline where her son was sleeping in a small room in North Chicago.
“My son’s surgery is in three weeks,” Mara said softly. “That’s all I care about.”
“He will have the best surgeons in the country,” Adrian promised, his gray eyes burning with absolute vow. “I will fly in the chief of pediatric cardiology from Johns Hopkins tomorrow morning. Everything is taken care of.”
May you like
Mara looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. She found none.
“Then we have work to do, Vale,” Mara said, a faint, dangerous smile finally appearing on her lips. “Because Dominic Moretti still thinks he owns this city.”
