Chapter 23 - Shadows in the City
The financial strike hit Salvatore Rossi’s network with the devastating precision of a lightning strike. Within forty-eight hours, three of his primary import fronts in Manhattan were slapped with federal asset freezes and emergency injunctions, orchestrated through legitimate corporate litigation backed by the Moretti legal team.
However, men like Rossi did not go quietly into bankruptcy.
Two nights after the command meeting, Dominic was forced to travel into the city to meet with federal contacts and secure the final legal sign-offs on the asset transfers. Despite my protests, he insisted on taking an armored escort, leaving me and the children under the heavy protection of Marcus and the remaining estate guards.
The moon was hidden behind a thick blanket of gray clouds, casting an eerie, monochromatic pall over the Westchester grounds.
I sat in the master study, reviewing the final encrypted bank transfers on my laptop screen, when a sudden, sharp pop echoed from the direction of the southern perimeter.
Crack.
It wasn't thunder. It was a suppressed gunshot.
Before I could stand up, the overhead lights in the study flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness except for the pale blue glow of the computer monitor.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Marcus rushed inside, his breathing heavy, a 9mm pistol drawn and ready in his right hand.
“Clara! We’ve been breached!” Marcus hissed urgently. “Silent alarm tripped at the southern gatehouse. Two intruders bypassed the thermal sensors.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but the paralyzing fear of six years ago was entirely gone, replaced by cold, calculated survival instinct.
“Where is Lily?” I demanded, grabbing the Beretta pistol from its concealed holster beneath the desk.
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“Safe in the panic room beneath the master wardrobe,” Marcus said quickly. “I secured her the moment the sensor fired. But they’re looking for you, Clara. Rossi knows you’re the one who froze his accounts.”
Before we could move toward the secret corridor, the heavy glass window facing the garden shattered inward in a shower of glittering shards. A dark, masked figure vaulted fluidly through the frame, rolling across the Persian rug and coming up with a silenced submachine gun leveled directly at our chests.
