Chapter 3 - Blood on the Marble
The kitchen became an arena of pure, unadulterated violence.
Diesel slammed into the lead intruder with the force of a small car. The man’s scream was cut short as the dog’s massive jaws locked onto his forearm, shattering the bone instantly. The gun flew from his grip, clattering across the polished white marble tiles.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The second gunman fired blindly into the ceiling as Vincent dove behind the heavy oak kitchen island, pulling Maria down with him.
"Stay down!" Vincent yelled.
He rolled out from behind the counter, raised his Sig Sauer, and fired twice. Both rounds caught the second gunman in the center of his chest, folding him backward over the prep table in a spray of blood and flour.
The third intruder, panicked by the sudden death of his partner and the snarling beast ripping the lead man's arm apart, scrambled toward the back door. He kicked Diesel hard in the ribs.
The heavy thud of the boot against the dog’s side was sickening. Diesel let out a sharp yip but did not let go. He clamped his jaws tighter, dragging the screaming man down to the floor.
"Sophia! Stay back!" Antonio screamed from the hallway, his old voice cracking with terror.
Vincent looked toward the window. Outside, the black van in the driveway had its side doors wide open. The red laser sight of a sniper rifle danced across the glass, searching for a target. It found one—the small white shape of Sophia, who had run to the edge of the patio, her eyes wide with horror as she watched the struggle inside.
The red dot settled on her chest.
"No!" Vincent roared.
He didn't think. He didn't calculate the odds. For the first time in twenty years, the cold, calculating mafia boss disappeared, replaced by a father who had already watched one daughter die.
Vincent launched himself through the broken glass door, his body taking the brunt of the impact as he tackled Sophia to the ground just as a high-caliber round shattered the door frame above them, showering them in wooden splinters.
They rolled into the dirt of the courtyard. Vincent kept his large body draped over her, his eyes scanning the driveway.
"Giuseppe!" Vincent screamed. "Where the hell is my security?!"
The answer came in the form of three black SUVs roaring around the corner of the mansion, their tires screaming on the asphalt. Giuseppe and four heavily armed guards leaned out of the windows, opening fire on the black van.
The van’s tires shredded under the hail of bullets. The driver slammed the vehicle into reverse, crashing through the heavy iron gates of the estate before speeding down the mountain road, smoke pouring from its engine.
Silence fell over the estate once more, broken only by the heavy breathing of the guards and the low, dangerous growl still coming from the kitchen.
Vincent slowly pushed himself up. His face was scratched, his expensive suit ruined, but his hands were steady as he looked down at Sophia.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough.
Sophia shook her head. Her white dress was covered in mud and his blood, but her eyes were remarkably clear. She reached out and touched his cheek, her small fingers wiping away a smear of red.
"You're bleeding," she whispered.
Vincent stared at her. The touch was so light, so familiar, that it felt like a physical blow to his sternum. For a second, the courtyard vanished, and he was standing on a rain-slick road in New Haven, holding a lifeless child in his arms.
A wet, heavy weight pressed against his thigh.
Vincent looked down. Diesel was standing beside them, his muzzle covered in blood, his breathing heavy. The dog looked up at Vincent, then down at Sophia, before gently licking the dirt off the little girl's knee.
Giuseppe ran into the courtyard, his weapon still drawn. "Boss, the intruder in the kitchen is secure. He’s alive, but his arm is... well, the dog did a number on him. Who are these people?"
Vincent stood up, lifting Sophia into his arms. He didn't care about the mud or the blood. He held her tight, his eyes turning to cold stone as he looked at Giuseppe.
"They're Salvatore's men," Vincent said, his voice dripping with dry ice. "Take the one in the kitchen to the basement. I want to know who paid him to come into my house."
The Awakening: A monster protects its own. In the Romano house, the line between man and beast had just been completely erased.
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Two hours later, in the dim light of the mansion's concrete cellar, the captured intruder lay strapped to a chair, his mangled arm wrapped in crude bandages. Vincent stood in front of him, but he wasn't holding a knife or a gun. Beside him stood Diesel, the dog’s amber eyes locked onto the prisoner’s throat, his tail slowly wagging as if he was waiting for a command. "You have thirty seconds to tell me who Salvatore is working for," Vincent whispered, "before I let him finish his dinner."
