I glance at my watch. “Set the charges.”
“Blowing the doors in five.”
I sprint back to the main corridor, meeting up with the team.
Five.
We brace.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Boom.
39
MAXIM
The explosion rocks the building, sending shockwaves through the compound. The reinforced doors blast inward, smoke and fire consuming the entryway.
Guns up.
We storm inside.
Game on.
My men fan out, moving with precision. Bullets ricochet off walls, sparks flying as we push forward. I take down the first guard with a single shot to the chest, my focus unrelenting.
Dmitri is at my side, moving like a shadow. We don’t need to speak; years of fighting together have honed our instincts. He covers my left as I sweep right, our movements synchronized like clockwork.
A guard rushes me, his weapon raised. I sidestep, driving the butt of my rifle into his gut before finishing him with a clean shot, wincing as my hip pain jabs at me. Blood splatters across the stone wall.
“Maxim, second floor!” Dmitri shouts, pointing toward a balcony where snipers are taking position.
I lift my rifle, firing in quick succession. The snipers drop before they can get a shot off.
We push deeper into the compound, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of gunpowder.
The team at the south side are doing their jobs, causing chaos. Lombardi won’t know where the main assault it taking place.
Explosions rock the ground beneath our feet, but I keep moving, my mind locked on one goal: Vito Lombardi.
As we reach the main building, resistance stiffens. Guards pour out in droves, their numbers forcing us into a brutal firefight. I dive behind a stone column, bullets whizzing past my head.
Dmitri slides in beside me, reloading his weapon. “They’re throwing everything they’ve got at us,” he says with a grim smile.
“They’re scared,” I reply, peering around the column and taking out another guard.
“They should be,” Ivan replies. “Bunch of pussies, the whole lot.”
With a burst of coordinated fire, we break through the last line of defense and storm the main hall. The room is eerily quiet, the only sound the distant crackle of flames from the chaos outside.
Dmitri and I move as one, sweeping the room until we find him—Vito Lombardi, standing at the far end, a pistol clutched in his trembling hand as he tries to pull the window open to escape.