Chapter 8 - The Siege of the Estate
The retaliatory strike came faster than expected, but exactly as I had anticipated.
It was two o'clock on a rainy Saturday morning. The estate was wrapped in deep darkness. I was sitting in my library on the ground floor, reading through legal documents, unable to sleep.
Suddenly, the silent alarm system on my desk began to flash a deep, rhythmic crimson.
I stood up instantly, pulling my custom Kimber .45 pistol from the hidden drawer beneath my desk.
Marco burst into the library a second later, a tactical submachine gun slung across his chest. “Boss! We’ve got perimeter breaches at the north gate! Three black SUVs cut through the fences! It’s Joey Rossi’s hit squad!”
“Where are Elena and Mia?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs, cold adrenaline flooding my system.
“They’re in the panic room on the third floor,” Marco reported. “Security team is locked down around the main stairs.”
“Good,” I snapped, racking the slide of my pistol. “Cut the main power to the house. Engage night-vision defense. Do not let a single intruder reach the third floor.”
The lights inside the sprawling mansion died instantly, plunging the interior into pitch-black shadow.
Outside, thunder crashed, illuminated by flashes of lightning that cast long, ghostly figures across the high arched windows. The sound of shattered glass echoed from the conservatory, followed immediately by the sharp, deafening chatter of suppressed automatic gunfire.
Joey Rossi had sent twelve armed men to take my estate—a desperate, foolish attempt to eliminate me in my own home.
I moved through the dark hallways like a shadow. I knew every inch of this mansion; I had grown up in these rooms. The intruders were navigating blindly through unfamiliar corridors, their tactical flashlights cutting erratic beams through the dust.
A masked shooter rounded the corner near the art gallery. I stepped out from the shadow of a marble pillar, raised my weapon, and fired twice. The silenced gun popped softly, and the intruder collapsed to the floor without making a sound.
I kept moving, flanking the secondary squad advancing toward the grand staircase.
Marco and our security team opened fire from the upper balcony, trapping the intruders in a lethal crossfire in the main foyer. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark like strobe lights, the roaring gunfire echoing through the massive estate.
Within seven minutes, the gunfire stopped.
The silence that returned to the house was thick and heavy, smelling of burnt cordite, gunpowder, and fresh blood.
Marco called down from the balcony. “Foyer clear, Boss! Seven down, four captured in the gardens! We’ve secured the perimeter!”
“Is anyone on our team hurt?” I called out.
“Minor shrapnel wound on Frankie, but everyone’s standing!” Marco replied.
I lowered my pistol, taking a deep, shuddering breath. I walked slowly up the grand staircase, my shoes stepping carefully around the debris, and made my way to the third floor.
I reached the end of the private corridor, approached the heavy mahogany paneling that concealed the reinforced steel door of the panic room, and typed the access code into the keypad.
The heavy steel door unlocked with a loud, mechanical hiss and slid open.
Inside, sitting on a plush leather sofa under the soft emergency lighting, was Elena. She was holding Mia tightly against her chest, her body trembling, a heavy iron poker from the fireplace held firmly in her hand.
When she saw me standing in the doorway—alive, uninjured, holding my weapon—the iron poker slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
“Luca!” she cried out, leaping from the sofa and throwing herself into my arms.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her so tightly I could feel the rapid, frantic beat of her heart against my chest. I buried my face in her soft hair, breathing in the scent of lavender and warmth that belonged exclusively to her.
“It’s over, Elena,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. “It’s over. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Mia peeked out from behind her mother’s legs, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She looked up at me, then at the gun in my hand, and then at my face.
“Uncle Luca,” she murmured, yawning softly. “Did you catch the bad guys?”
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I knelt down on one knee, setting my gun safely on the side table, and opened my arm to her. Mia toddled over and wrapped her small arms around my neck.
“Yes, Boss Mia,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “I caught them all.”
