Chapter 8 - Blood in the Snow
The heavy oak doors of the grand foyer finally splintered inward with a deafening CRACK, showering the pristine marble floor with shards of ancient wood and frozen snow.
Marcus Vance stepped through the breach, a towering, imposing figure wrapped in a heavy black cashmere overcoat, holding an assault rifle casually across his chest. Behind him poured six heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear, their boots tracking slush and mud across the sacred floors of the Moretti estate.
"Lorenzo!" Marcus shouted, his voice echoing mockingly through the cavernous hall. "Come out, you arrogant little bastard! You think you can freeze my sister's accounts and get away with it? Hand over the estate deeds, sign over the voting shares, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you die quickly!"
Silence answered him. The mansion was pitch black; Lorenzo had cut the main circuit breakers just moments before the breach, plunging the interior into a labyrinth of deep shadows and blinding moonlight filtering through the high windows.
Marcus frowned, gesturing sharply to two of his mercenaries. "Sweep the ground floor. Check the kitchen, the dining hall, and the study. Find the old man and the boy."
The two mercenaries clicked their flashlights on, sweeping their weapon beams across the dark hallway as they advanced cautiously toward the east wing. They moved with professional military discipline, checking every corner, every doorway.
They passed the entrance to the east library—right where I was hiding behind a heavy velvet drapery, holding my breath, my finger resting lightly on the trigger of my pistol.
Beside me, Lorenzo melted into the shadows like a ghost, a tactical knife gleaming dully in his right hand.
As the first mercenary walked past my hiding spot, I didn't hesitate. I stepped out silently from behind the curtain, raised the Sig Sauer, and fired a single, precise shot straight into the rubber sole of his combat boot, pinning his foot to the wooden floorboards with a piercing shriek of agony.
Before the second mercenary could even raise his rifle, Lorenzo dropped from the ceiling rafters above him like a predatory cat, wrapping his arm around the man’s throat and slamming him headfirst into the marble wall with a sickening thump. The mercenary went limp instantly, sliding unconscious to the floor.
Marcus Vance heard the commotion from the foyer and roared in fury. "Over here! They're in the east wing!"
Three more mercenaries rushed down the hallway, their assault rifles blazing, spraying bullets wildly into the mahogany paneling and shattering antique vases into a million glittering pieces.
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"Fall back!" Lorenzo yelled, grabbing my arm and pulling me swiftly through the hidden revolving bookcase panel that led directly into the estate’s historic secret service corridors.
We slammed the secret door shut just as a hail of bullets chewed up the wood where we had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
