Chapter 9
The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness. Inside the fortified estate, the bright, luxurious colors of the mansion felt surreal against the backdrop of an impending siege. Men in tailored suits now wore heavy tactical vests over their crisp dress shirts, carrying automatic weapons through the pristine marble hallways. The American aristocracy aesthetic had been entirely consumed by the violent reality of the Mafia underworld.
Rafael stood by the reinforced windows of the second-floor gallery, looking out over the rain-slicked driveway. His heavy wristwatch ticked quietly in the silence. It was past 3:00 AM.
Valeria and Julian were out there somewhere in the storm. Rafael felt no pity for his sister, but the thought of the nine-year-old boy shivering in the rain briefly crossed his mind. However, in the brutal calculus of syndicate survival, collateral damage was inevitable. Valeria had made her choice the moment she laid hands on Amelia.
"Boss," Silas called out, jogging down the hallway. "We just intercepted a local police dispatch. Three abandoned vehicles were found ablaze on the interstate. They match the descriptions of Chicago outfit transport vans."
"They burned their own transport?" Rafael narrowed his eyes. "They are masking their approach. They are coming on foot through the eastern woods."
"The eastern woods border the guest houses," Silas warned. "It's the darkest part of the property."
"Shift Alpha team to the eastern tree line," Rafael ordered, turning away from the window. "Tell them to shoot anything that moves. I am going down to check on Amelia."
Rafael moved quickly through the bright corridors, descending back into the subterranean safe room. When he opened the heavy oak door, he found Maria asleep in the chair. But Amelia was wide awake.
The five-year-old was sitting upright on the leather sofa, the gold signet ring still clutched in her hand. She looked at her father, her fair skin pale but her blue eyes surprisingly calm.
"Daddy," Amelia whispered. "I hear thunder. But it doesn't sound like rain."
Rafael paused. He listened carefully. A low, rhythmic thumping echoed through the thick concrete walls. It wasn't thunder. It was the muffled sound of suppressed gunfire originating from the eastern edge of the property.
"It's just a storm, my love," Rafael lied softly, walking over to kiss her forehead. "I need you to be very brave for me tonight. Keep the ring safe."
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"I will, Daddy," Amelia promised, her voice steady.
Rafael smiled, a fierce, protective pride swelling in his chest. His daughter was stronger than Beatrice had ever been. He stood up, drew his heavy sidearm from his shoulder holster, and walked back out the door to join the firing line.
