Blood and Roses
· Alessia DeLuca & Production Syndicate · 6 min read
The convoy roared back into the Westchester compound thirty minutes later, the armored vehicles scarred by bullet indentations and shrapnel gouges. Alessandro walked into the private fortress infirmary, his face grim, his left hand pressing a blood-soaked linen towel against his ribs. A piece of explosive shrapnel from a Russian grenade had torn through his Kevlar vest during the final moments of the tunnel firefight. Dr. Rossi was away in…
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