Chapter 9 - The Siege of Beacon HillTwo nights later, the iron gates of the Beacon Hill mansion stood twisted and torn off their hinges, crushed beneath the reinforced steel bumper of a heavy industrial snowcat.
The snow fell thick and heavy over the cobblestone courtyard, muffling the sound of footsteps as Nico, Maya, and Titan moved through the shadows of the estate. Sarah had stayed behind at the cabin to monitor the police frequencies, but Maya had insisted on coming along, armed with a heavy duffel bag filled with digital encryption scramblers and encrypted hard drives.
They didn't need to pick the locks. The front doors were wide open.
Inside, the grand foyer was dead silent. The crystal chandelier hung motionless, casting eerie, distorted shadows across the marble floor.
"They're waiting for us in the study," Maya whispered, her fingers flying over a handheld terminal she had plugged into the estate's security hub. "I've locked down every exit and jammed their cellular relays. Nobody calls for backup, and nobody gets out."
Nico walked down the familiar hallway, his boots clicking against the marble floor. Every painting, every bronze bust, every ancestral portrait stared down at him with the cold, critical judgment of a family built on murder and betrayal.
He didn't look at them. He only walked forward, his hand resting comfortably on the heavy grip of his father's old Beretta—the very gun he had refused to fire in that cellar three weeks ago.
He reached the heavy mahogany doors of the study and pushed them open with a single shove.
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Vittorio Falcone sat behind his massive desk, pouring a glass of thirty-year-old whiskey. He didn't look panicked. He didn't look surprised. He simply raised his eyes, his silver hair catching the amber lamplight, and smiled a wide, warm, utterly empty smile.
"Welcome home, prodigal son," Vittorio said smoothly, raising his glass. "I wondered how long it would take you to realize you can't outrun your own blood."
