Chapter 8 - The Sniper's Perch
Tires shrieked against the wet pavement as Nico’s armored Mercedes tore through the rain-slicked streets of Morningside Heights, blowing through three red lights in a row.
In the passenger seat, Rafe was rapidly loading brass cartridges into the magazine of a tactical MPX submachine gun. "Security detail at Vivia's dorm isn't answering their radios, Nico. The cartel cut the local cell tower repeater."
"Step on it!" Nico roared.
The car slid sideways around the corner of 116th Street, slamming its front bumper through the wrought-iron gates of the university courtyard. Nico kicked open the driver's door before the car had even completely stopped rolling, sprinting through the downpour toward the brick residential hall.
Across the street, on the roof of a six-story Gothic library, a muzzle flash pierced the darkness.
Crack!
The heavy sniper round struck the stone steps two inches from Nico’s boots, sending sharp concrete fragments flying into his face.
Nico dove behind a bronze statue, drawing his sidearm. "Rafe, flank the fire escape on the south wall! I'm taking the front stairs!"
Rafe sprinted into the alleyway, while Nico kicked open the heavy oak entrance of the library. He moved like a predator through the dim, silent corridors, taking the spiraling stairs three at a time. His heart hammered in his chest, fueled by pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
He hit the roof door with his shoulder, blowing it off its latch.
The sniper—a tall man in urban camouflage gear with a suppressed Barrett rifle—spun around, dropping the long gun and drawing a combat knife from his chest rig with lightning speed.
"You're too late, Vance," the assassin snarled, slashing the blade in a vicious horizontal arc aimed at Nico's throat.
Nico ducked beneath the blade, stepping deep inside the man's guard. He drove a brutal elbow straight into the assassin's sternum, followed by a bone-crushing knee to his midsection. The man gasped, dropping the knife, but lunged forward to wrap his hands around Nico’s throat, driving him backward toward the unguarded ledge of the six-story drop.
Rain whipped across their faces as they grappled at the precipice.
"Who sent you?" Nico choked out, gripping the assassin’s thumbs and violently bending them backward until the joints popped.
The man screamed in agony, his grip breaking. Nico grabbed him by the tactical vest, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the roof parapet, dangling the assassin halfway over the sixty-foot drop into the alley below.
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"I won't ask twice," Nico growled into the man's ear, his eyes burning with lethal intent. "Who hired you?"
"The Syndicate... The Rostov Syndicate!" the assassin gasped, trembling as he stared down at the concrete far below. "They bought your father's old shipping lanes! Marcella made a deal with Viktor Rostov to eliminate Arthur and take over the routes! She's breaking out tonight!"
