Chapter 6 - The Midnight SiegeThe storm outside peaked, heavy rain slamming against the reinforced glass windows of the penthouse.
"She hired the Solntsevskaya faction?" Alessandro’s voice was dangerously low as he stood over the tactical display map on his desk.
"Yes, Boss," Marco replied, pointing to glowing red dots appearing on a digital map of Midtown Manhattan. "Vivien knew her father’s ledgers would fail to bring you down legally. She used her remaining offshore funds—fifty million dollars—to put a hit on you, Clara, and the child. The Russians aren't coming to negotiate. They’ve dispatched a six-man heavy tactical team armed with military hardware."
I gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, horror washing over me. "She wants to kill Emma? A three-year-old child?"
"Vivien knows that if you and Emma die, the legal claim to the Romano fortune reverts back to her through corporate loopholes," Alessandro said, his tone icy. "She doesn't care about the family name anymore. She only cares about the money and her sick need for vengeance."
He turned to Marco. "Initiate Protocol Black. Shut down the main power grid to the top five floors. Lock down all elevator shafts."
"Already done, Boss," Marco said. "But they aren't using the elevators. Look."
Marco tapped the screen. A live thermal camera feed showed a stealth helicopter hovering high above the Moretti Tower, completely invisible in the heavy rain and dark clouds. Six dark figures were rappelling down thick ropes onto the private helipad on the penthouse roof.
"They're coming from above," I gasped, my heart slamming into my throat. "Emma—"
"Marco, take four men and secure the nursery," Alessandro ordered instantly. "Install the titanium blast shield over her door. No one enters that room except me or Clara. Understood?"
"Understood, Don Moretti!" Marco barked, sprinting down the corridor to execute the order.
Alessandro turned to his private armory hidden behind a bookshelf, pulling out two heavy tactical pistols and handing one to me.
"I don't know how to shoot a gun!" I cried, backing away from the cold metal.
"Tonight you learn," Alessandro said fiercely, grabbing my hands and pressing the weapon firmly into my palm, wrapping my fingers around the grip. "You are a Moretti now, Clara. We do not hide in corners while wolves break down our doors. If anyone comes through that entrance who isn't me or Marco, you pull this trigger until it clicks empty."
He looked into my eyes, his intensity anchoring my wild panic. "Can you do that for your daughter?"
I looked down at the gun, then back at the hallway where my little girl was sleeping, safe behind a blast door. The fear inside me suddenly transformed into something white-hot and primal. A mother's rage, buried beneath years of submission and servitude, finally burst through.
"Yes," I said, my voice no longer shaking. "I can."
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the roof directly above us. Dust and plaster rained down from the grand ceiling as the heavy glass skylight shattered into thousands of deadly fragments.
Through the cascade of falling glass, six heavily armed men dressed in black tactical gear descended on cables, their assault rifles flashing in the darkness as they opened fire on the penthouse main floor.
Alessandro moved like a specter of death. He rolled behind a heavy marble pillar, returning fire with lethal precision. Two of the masked attackers dropped before their feet even hit the hardwood floor.
I ducked behind the thick mahogany desk, pulling the slide back on the pistol just like I had seen Alessandro do. The deafening sound of gunfire filled the cavernous penthouse, muzzle flashes casting long, grotesque shadows across the walls.
"Target secured!" a harsh, Russian-accented voice barked through a tactical radio. "Clear the hallway! Find the child!"
My blood turned to liquid ice. One of the mercenaries was heading directly down the corridor toward Emma's nursery!
Alessandro was pinned down behind the marble pillar by three remaining gunmen who were pouring continuous fire into his cover. He couldn't move without getting riddled with bullets.
He looked across the room at me, his eyes wild with urgency. "Clara! Stop him!"
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I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
I stepped out from behind the mahogany desk, raised the heavy pistol with both hands, aimed at the back of the mercenary sprinting toward my daughter's room, and pulled the trigger.
