Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF THE GOLD COASTThe mercenaries didn't hesitate. They raised their submachine guns and opened fire.
TACTACTACTAC!
Drywall and marble plaster exploded around me as I dove behind the thick oak banister of the staircase.
"Elena! Down!" I roared.
Elena dragged Lily behind the heavy mahogany doors of the upper library, shielding her daughter with her own body.
I leaned around the banister and emptied my magazine into the central hall. One mercenary dropped with a bullet to the neck; the other two ducked behind the Italian marble columns supporting the high ceiling.
CLICK.
My slide locked back. Out of ammo.
"He's dry!" one of the mercenaries shouted, stepping out from behind a pillar to advance up the stairs.
I pulled Marco’s spare magazine from my robe pocket, but before I could reload, a sudden high-pitched scream filled the foyer.
CLANG!
A heavy bronze statue of Apollo—a three-hundred-pound piece of art that had sat on the upper landing for decades—came crashing down the stairs, rolling violently like a boulder.
It smashed directly into the advancing mercenary, breaking his legs with a sickening crunch and sending his gun flying across the polished floor.
I looked up in disbelief.
Lily was standing beside the pedestal, her hands dusty, panting heavily. She had used an iron fire poker from the library to lever the heavy statue off its base.
"Lily!" Elena cried out, reaching for her.
The kid looked down at me and grinned. "I helped."
"You certainly did," I muttered, slamming the fresh magazine into my Sig Sauer.
I stepped over the fallen statue, walked down the remaining stairs, and put a final shot into the incapacitated mercenary. The third mercenary, seeing his partners wiped out in less than two minutes, threw down his weapon, raised his hands, and bolted out the front glass doors into the rainy night.
That left only one person in the grand entrance hall.
Vanessa was scrambling backward toward the terrace doors, her expensive coat soaked in rainwater, her immaculate blonde hair matted against her face. She looked like a trapped animal.
"Julian... please," she sobbed, backing up until her heels hit the glass doors. "I was forced into this! They threatened me! The Syndicate... they told me if I didn't kill you, they would murder my family!"
I walked up to her, the heavy barrel of my gun pointed straight between her eyes.
"You don't have a family, Vanessa," I said coldly. "I checked your background three years ago. Your parents died when you were ten. You raised yourself on grift, lies, and poison."
She froze, the crocodile tears instantly drying on her face. Her expression twisted into pure malice.
"You think you’ve won?" she spat, glaring at me with venomous hatred. "You think killing me fixes this? The Chicago Syndicate already knows you’re weak! They know you’ve been sick for months! By tomorrow morning, every lieutenant in this city will be carving up your territory!"
"Let them try," I whispered.
Outside, the heavy rumble of high-powered engines filled the driveway. Headlights flashed through the rain-streaked windows as six black SUVs pulled up, blowing through the front gates.
Dominic and twenty heavily armed Moretti enforcers poured out of the vehicles, taking up defensive positions around the perimeter.
Dominic burst through the shattered front doors, his shotgun racked and ready, his eyes sweeping the bloodied foyer before settling on me.
"Boss," Dominic said, bowing his head slightly in relief. "The house is secured. What do we do with her?"
May you like
I looked at Vanessa. She stared back at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, terrified plea.
"Take her to the basement," I ordered flatly. "Lock her in the cold storage. Let her see what it feels like to freeze at 2:17 a.m."
