Chapter 6 - The Siege of the Estate
"Inside! Now!" Lorenzo shouted, using his own body as a shield as he half-carried, half-dragged Isabella toward the reinforced side entrance of the mansion, with Marta and Emma scrambling frantically behind them.
Bruno charged ahead, a furious black blur, leaping at the first tactical operative who rounded the corner of the terrace. The massive mastiff slammed into the gunman's chest, knocking him to the stone ground with a brutal crunch, his jaws snapping shut around the man’s forearm before a burst of suppressed gunfire echoed through the gardens.
"Bruno!" Isabella screamed, tears streaming down her face.
"He's buying us time, Isabella! Move!" Lorenzo kicked the heavy oak door open, shoved the women into the reinforced panic room behind the wine cellar, and slammed the steel hydraulic bolt shut just as a barrage of bullets hammered against the exterior paneling.
Inside the reinforced vault, the air was cool and smelled of aged cedar and dust. Emergency generator lights flickered on, casting a dim, amber glow over rows of vintage wine racks and spare weapon lockers.
Isabella collapsed against a rack of Bordeaux, pulling little Emma into her lap, sobbing silently as she rocked the child back and forth. Marta was hyperventilating, whispering frantic prayers in Italian.
Lorenzo didn't panic. Panic was for men who didn't know how to die. He walked straight to the steel weapons locker, spun the combination lock with practiced ease, and pulled out two submachine guns, spare magazines, and a tactical vest.
"Lorenzo, there's too many of them," Isabella said, her voice shaking as she looked up at him through her veil of dirt and hair. "They've bought out the whole syndicate. You can't fight an army by yourself."
"I am not fighting an army," Lorenzo said coldly, strapping the tactical rig across his chest and racking the bolt of his rifle with a satisfying clack. "I am cleaning house."
He punched the security monitor console on the wall. The camera feeds flickered to life, showing six heavily armed men moving through the ground-floor hallways, systematically smashing doors, looking for them. Leading them was a tall, scarred man Lorenzo recognized instantly—Kovalev, an international enforcer hired by the old European syndicate boards.
Lorenzo pressed the intercom button that connected to the main house speakers.
The deep, resonant hum of his voice echoed through every room of the mansion.
"Kovalev," Lorenzo spoke into the mic, his voice as flat and lethal as a winter storm. "You stepped onto my land. You threatened my family. You have exactly sixty seconds to drop your weapons and walk out the front gates. After that... I won't leave enough of you to fill a body bag."
A harsh burst of static crackled over the speakers, followed by Kovalev’s mocking laughter. "Duca! The king is dead. Your little empire belongs to us now. Come out with your hands up, and maybe we’ll let the woman live for another five minutes!"
Lorenzo’s eyes went completely black. He released the intercom button, turned to Isabella, and pressed a heavy, snub-nosed revolver into her palm.
"Can you shoot?" he asked quietly.
May you like
Isabella looked down at the steel, her fingers wrapping around the grip with a cold, familiar weight she hadn't held in six years. A dangerous, beautiful hardness returned to her eyes.
"I was a Duca before I was your wife, Lorenzo," she whispered. "Point me at the door."
