Chapter 37 - The Sinking Citadel
"Madame Vance," the voice of the yacht’s captain crackled through the intercom system, high-pitched with pure terror. "We have multiple unidentified fast-attack crafts breaching the harbor perimeter! They aren't Monegasque coast guard! They’re running blacked-out hulls with heavy-caliber mounts!"
Alexander slowly dragged himself up from the floor, wiping blood from his split lip, a grotesque, manic grin spreading across his bruised face.
"Did you really think I came here alone, Eleanor?" Alexander wheezed, his laughter sounding like dry leaves scraping over stone. "Did you really think I would walk onto your yacht without an insurance policy? Those aren't coast guards. That’s a private maritime extraction team from South Africa. I hired them thirty-six hours ago when Ricardo started singing."
Eleanor’s face drained of color. "You brought private mercenaries into Monegasque waters? Are you insane? The French Navy will sink this vessel before you clear the bay!"
"By the time the French realize what’s happening, this yacht will be on the bottom of the Mediterranean," Alexander snarled, reaching into his coat and pulling out a compact tactical detonator. "And everyone on board will be listed as casualties of a tragic maritime gas explosion—except for me, and my new heir."
"You're going to scuttle the ship?" Sofia gasped, stepping back toward the glass doors.
"The yacht's hull is fitted with pneumatic scuttling valves for emergency containment," Eleanor whispered, realization hitting her like a physical blow. "He paid off my chief engineer."
The first impact hit the hull with the force of a tidal wave.
A high-explosive breaching charge detonated against the starboard engine room, throwing everyone off their feet. The massive 140-meter yacht groaned, a sickening sound of twisting steel and shattered titanium reverberating through the structure. The lights flickered, died, and were instantly replaced by the harsh, rotating crimson glare of emergency warning beacons.
"Victoria! Run!" Sofia screamed, grabbing my arm.
I clutched the newborn against my chest with my left arm, shielding his head against the flying shards of crystal from the shattered chandelier. Camilla was on the floor, crawling toward us, her fingers clawing at the carpet.
"Alexander!" Eleanor shrieked, lunging at her former husband with the ferocity of a feral animal, her manicured nails raking across his face. "You miserable dog! I created you!"
Alexander swung his forearm, striking Eleanor across the jaw and sending the sixty-year-old matriarch sprawling against the glass dining table. He didn't look back; he raised the detonator and hit the red toggle.
Deep in the belly of *The Leviathan*, three more muffled explosions tore through the watertight bulkheads. The yacht immediately listed five degrees to the starboard side, the wine bottles, crystalware, and chairs sliding across the floor and smashing against the exterior glass.
"The helicopter!" Alexander screamed to his tactical guards. "Secure the perimeter! Bring the child!"
Two of his armed guards turned toward me, raising their weapons.
"Sofia, down!" I yelled.
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Before the guards could take two steps, the bulletproof glass wall behind them shattered into a million glittering diamonds under a hail of suppressed automatic fire.
***
