Chapter 2 - THE SIEGE OF VILLA ROSSIThe shockwave knocked Sophia to the floor, sending porcelain teacups shattering across the Persian rug. Smoke billowed through the ventilation shafts, and the estate’s security sirens began to wail in a frantic, ear-piercing shriek.
"Stay under the desk!" I ordered, drawing the Beretta from my holster as I sprinted toward the balcony doors.
Down in the courtyard, the scene of miraculous healing had instantly transformed into a combat zone. Two black armored SUVs had rammed through the wrought-iron security gates, crushing the stone pillars. Heavily armed mercenaries clad in matte-black tactical gear poured out, their assault rifles flashing in the pale winter light.
They weren't local street thugs. They wore the insignia of the Santoro Cartel—a syndicate I had thought completely eradicated after the Queens massacre three years ago.
"Isabella!" I roared, forgetting every rule of tactical engagement.
My daughter was stranded out in the open. The sudden explosion had terrified her; she had collapsed back onto the snow-covered grass, unable to run, crawling desperately toward the shelter of the fountain while little Emma stood shield-like in front of her, holding out her tiny hands toward the oncoming gunmen as if her sheer will could stop bullets.
"Shoot to kill!" a raspy voice barked over a bullhorn from the lead SUV. "Burn the house! Leave no witnesses!"
Through the scope of my Beretta, I lined up the leader’s chest and fired twice. He dropped instantly, collapsing against the hood of the vehicle.
Instantly, a hail of automatic gunfire chewed into the stone facade of the mansion, sending masonry shrapnel raining down around my head. I ducked back inside, dragging Sophia by the collar of her blouse behind the reinforced steel pillar of the study.
"They found us," Sophia whimpered, her hands covering her ears. "They knew you were distracted."
"They didn't track me," I snarled, my mind racing through the security logs. "Someone inside the inner circle sold the access codes. But that doesn't matter now."
I keyed the master intercom system linked to the underground armory. "Code Red. All remaining guards, fall back to the north courtyard. Secure the girl. If a single hair on my daughter's head is harmed, I will personally flay every man responsible."
"Boss! The armory's been sabotaged!" Static hissed through the intercom, followed by the wet, sickening sound of a suppressed gunshot and a heavy thud.
The line went dead.
My breath hitched. The Santoros hadn't just breached the gates; they had completely compromised the estate from the inside out. We were entirely cut off. The panic room was down in the basement, but to get there, we had to cross the main foyer—which was already being swarmed.
"Dante!"
Sophia grabbed my sleeve, pointing down at the courtyard security monitor on my desk.
On the screen, four tactical operatives had surrounded Isabella and Emma. One of them, a massive brute with a jagged scar across his jaw, reached down and grabbed Emma by the back of her jacket, hoisting her into the air like a ragdoll.
"Let her go, you bastard!" Isabella screamed, thrashing against the snow, her legs kicking out with startling, unprecedented strength.
The operative laughed, raising his tactical knife. "Cut the brat loose. Let’s see how fast the great Dante Moretti comes crawling out when his maid's kid bleeds out on his lawn."
Something inside my brain snapped. The cold, calculated mafia boss evaporated, replaced entirely by the primordial fury of a father whose family was being hunted.
I didn't use the stairs. I kicked out the remaining glass of the French balcony doors, vaulted over the wrought-iron railing, and dropped twelve feet to the stone patio below, rolling over my shoulder to absorb the impact.
The Beretta barked three times in rapid succession.
Pop-pop-pop.
The operative holding Emma took a bullet through the throat, spinning wildly before collapsing into the snow. The other three whipped around, rifles raised, but I was already moving, sliding behind the frozen stone basin where Isabella and Emma cowered.
"Daddy!" Isabella cried, throwing her small arms around my legs. Her boots were planted firmly on the ground—she was actually supporting her own weight.
"Stay behind me," I ordered, shoving them both into the recessed alcove of the heavy oak cellar doors.
I fired until the slide locked back. Empty.
A fresh wave of mercenaries rushed around the corner of the west wing, heavy boots crunching on the frozen gravel. Their barrels leveled directly at my chest. I dropped the empty magazine, reaching frantically for my spare—
Clack.
Before the new mag could click into place, a deafening roar echoed from the trees above.
The antique bronze statue of my grandfather, perched on a heavy stone pedestal overlooking the garden, suddenly groaned, fractured, and pitched forward. Tons of solid metal and stone crashed directly down onto the advancing mercenaries, burying them in an avalanche of rubble and dust.
Silence descended upon the courtyard, save for the crackling of the burning security gate.
I stood there, panting, staring at the crushed SUV and the ruined statue. No explosives had hit the pedestal. No cables had been rigged. The heavy granite base had simply sheared off its foundation as if a giant hand had reached down and pushed it.
May you like
Slowly, I turned my head toward the maple tree.
Little Emma was standing entirely alone, her eyes glowing with a faint, luminous amber light that didn't belong to any human child. She looked directly at me, lowered her hand, and smiled.
