Chapter 8
The sprawling Moretti estate was a fortress of bright, cinematic lighting, casting sharp shadows across the manicured lawns and towering marble columns. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the metallic tension of impending violence. Vincent stood in the grand foyer, surrounded by two dozen of his most elite, heavily armed bodyguards. They wore tailored suits, but their hands gripped automatic weapons, their faces grim and determined.
"Boss," Marcus reported, jogging into the foyer from the security control room. "The eastern docks have been secured. Dominic's loyalists surrendered when they realized they were outgunned. We found the Lupertazzi weapon caches hidden in the cargo containers."
"Excellent," Vincent replied, his deep, raspy voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Execute the ringleaders. Send the rest to the holding cells."
"There's something else, Vincent," Marcus warned, his American accent tight with urgency. "We intercepted a radio transmission from outside the estate perimeter. Dominic didn't just arm his men on the docks. He had a Lupertazzi hit squad waiting in the city. They know Dominic has been compromised."
Vincent’s cold, intimidating eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "They are coming here."
"Security sensors show movement in the treeline near the southern gate," Marcus confirmed. "They are mobilizing for a direct assault on the main house."
"Let them come," Vincent growled, drawing the suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster. "They think they are attacking a divided family. We will show them exactly how unified we are. Extinguish the exterior floodlights. Force them to fight in the dark. We hold the high ground."
Instantly, the brilliant, sweeping lights illuminating the estate's massive grounds went black. The only light remaining was the bright, pristine illumination inside the mansion itself, turning the windows into glowing targets.
"Positions," Vincent commanded quietly.
His men scattered with military precision, taking up defensive stances behind heavy marble pillars, overturned reception tables, and reinforced doorways. Vincent positioned himself near the grand staircase, a tactical vantage point that commanded a view of the massive front doors.
The silence stretched for three agonizing minutes. The tension was a living, breathing entity in the room.
Then, the sudden, deafening roar of an explosion shattered the night.
The heavy, wrought-iron southern gates of the estate were blown off their hinges by a shaped charge. The sound echoed like thunder, immediately followed by the aggressive revving of high-powered engines. Three matte-black tactical vans tore up the long, winding driveway, ignoring the gunfire from the perimeter guards.
The vans skidded to a halt directly in front of the mansion's grand entrance. Heavily armed men clad in dark tactical gear poured out, their assault rifles raised.
"Fire," Vincent roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a serrated blade.
The front of the estate erupted in a blinding, deafening symphony of automatic gunfire. The bright interior lights of the mansion provided perfect visibility for Vincent's men to target the attackers outside. The glass of the massive front doors shattered into a million glittering pieces, raining down on the marble floor.
Vincent stepped out from behind a marble pillar, his deeply masculine, powerful frame completely exposed for a fraction of a second. He raised his pistol, his aim flawlessly steady despite the chaos. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, dropping two of the advancing hitmen before smoothly stepping back into cover.
"Push them back!" Vincent yelled over the deafening roar of the firefight. "Do not let them cross the threshold!"
The Lupertazzi hit squad was brutal and highly trained, but they had severely underestimated the sheer, terrifying loyalty of Vincent's men. A barrage of suppressing fire tore through the tactical vans, shredding the tires and shattering the engine blocks.
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The attackers, realizing they were pinned down and outgunned, attempted to retreat behind their ruined vehicles.
But Vincent Moretti did not intend to let a single one of them leave his property alive. He reloaded his weapon with a sharp, mechanical click, preparing to lead the counter-charge into the night to slaughter the men who had dared to threaten his son.
