Chapter 7 - The Midnight LandingVincent’s head snapped toward the tall, double-paned floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Harlon," Vincent barked sharply.
The heavy oak study door clicked open instantly, and Harlon stepped inside, his hand resting casually on the butt of a silenced tactical pistol tucked into his belt. "I hear it, sir. The radar at the perimeter gate didn't pick them up. They came in low over the water, skimming the tree line to dodge the FAA sensors."
"Whose bird is it?" Vincent demanded, pushing himself up from his desk with his cane.
"Not ours," Harlon said grimly, stepping in front of Clara and the sleeping child on the rug. "And not the police. It's an unmarked Sikorsky S-76. Heavy tactical transport. The kind used by private security contractors or... well-funded family members."
Clara’s breath hitched in her throat. She scooped Lily up into her arms, the four-year-old murmuring sleepily against her shoulder before burying her face in her mother's neck. "Mr. Moretti... what's happening?"
"Stay behind me," Vincent ordered, his voice carrying the ironclad certainty of a general preparing for a siege. He walked over to the mahogany corner cabinet, unlocked a hidden wall panel with a small numerical code, and pulled out a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol—a weapon he hadn't fired since the dock wars of the nineteen-eighties, but whose weight he remembered with terrifying muscle memory.
"Harlon, the security feed from the roof," Vincent commanded.
Harlon tapped a small tablet pulled from his pocket. The screen flickered to life, showing grainy night-vision footage from the penthouse helipad.
Four figures in tactical black gear, wearing night-vision goggles and carrying suppressed submachine guns, were descending from the helicopter ropes onto the slate shingles of the roof. They moved with terrifying, military-grade precision.
"Professionals," Harlon muttered. "Not local thugs. Mercenaries."
"Julian," Vincent spat the name like a curse. "My brilliant, impatient son decided he couldn't wait for the courts. He wants a hostile takeover of my pulse."
"Sir, we need to get to the panic room in the basement," Harlon urged, stepping closer. "The reinforced steel doors can withstand an artillery shell."
"I am not running from my own house, Harlon," Vincent said, his eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying fire. He racked the slide of his pistol with a crisp, metallic snap. "This is a Moretti estate. Nobody takes it while I'm breathing."
Suddenly, the heavy glass skylight above the grand staircase outside the study shattered with a deafening CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the high-vaulted corridors like an explosion.
"They're inside," Harlon whispered, drawing his weapon and stepping into the hallway, positioning himself directly across the threshold of the master study.
Clara pressed herself and Lily into the far corner of the study behind the massive oak desk, her hands clamped tightly over her daughter's ears to block out the noise. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had wanted a better life for Lily—a safe apartment, a stable job, maybe even a college fund. She had never bargained for a midnight gunfight in a billionaire fortress.
Bang. Bang.
Two muffled, suppressed shots rang out from the hallway.
Harlon ducked back into the study, firing twice through the doorway before slamming the heavy oak door shut and throwing the iron deadbolt. "Got one! But there are three more coming up the stairs! They've got thermal breaching charges!"
"How long before the local police arrive?" Vincent demanded, leveling his pistol at the door.
"Five minutes," Harlon panted, reloading his magazine with practiced speed. "If the perimeter alarm tripped the silent relay."
"Five minutes," Vincent said, a grim, humorless smile touching his lips. "We have to make it four."
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Before another word could be spoken, a blinding flash of white light erupted against the center of the heavy oak door, followed by a concussive blast that blew the iron hinges straight out of the masonry.
The door flew inward in a shower of splinters and smoke.
