The screech of metal shearing against metal echoed from the upper levels of the safe house, a brutal reminder that the Rossi Syndicate hadn’t come to negotiate. They were cutting through the outer security doors.
Inside the sterile surgical suite, the pulsing crimson glare of the emergency lights painted the white-tiled walls in a rhythmic, bloody hue. Lorenzo didn't waste another second. He limped heavily toward a hidden wall panel near the medicine cabinets, slapping his palm against a biometric scanner. The panel slid aside to reveal a small, vertical gun rack loaded with tactical shotguns, automatic rifles, and spare magazines.
"Elena, move behind the stainless table," Lorenzo commanded, his voice tight, his face gray with the onset of shock from his own bullet wound. He dragged a he
