Chapter 7 - The siege of the estate
The cinematic warmth of the living room was instantly replaced by the freezing winter wind howling through the broken window. Vincent pushed Noelle and Julian behind the heavy mahogany wet bar in the corner of the room.
Stay low. Do not make a sound, Vincent commanded, drawing his weapon.
Julian looked at him, his dark eyes sharp. They will sweep the rooms systematically. There are at least twenty men outside. You cannot hold this position alone.
Watch me, Vincent said, stepping out from behind the bar.
The first wave of Moretti soldiers poured through the broken window, their heavy boots crunching on the shattered glass. Vincent did not hesitate. He moved with a breathtaking, lethal grace. He fired twice, disarming the first two men instantly, then closed the distance. He grabbed the barrel of a third man’s rifle, twisted it violently out of his hands, and used the weapon as a blunt instrument to sweep the legs out from under a fourth. He was a master of close-quarters dominance. His charcoal tuxedo jacket flared as he moved, a dark blur against the bright, festive lights of the room.
He didn't just fight; he systematically dismantled the intruders, using the heavy furniture, the stone fireplace, and his own overwhelming strength to incapacitate them without excessive gore. The men were broken, bruised, and unconscious on the floor within ninety seconds.
But there were more coming. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the grand foyer.
Vincent quickly moved back to the bar. He grabbed a heavy decorative rug, throwing it over the children to camouflage them in the shadows. I need to draw them away from this room. Julian, keep your sister quiet.
Julian nodded firmly, wrapping his small arm around Noelle’s shoulders.
Vincent sprinted out of the living room, firing a warning shot into the ceiling of the grand hallway to attract the attention of the remaining soldiers. He led them up the massive sweeping staircase, turning the second floor of his own home into a tactical battlefield. He used the maze of bedrooms, the heavy wooden doors, and the intricate architecture of the mansion to his advantage. He ambushed them in the library, throwing a massive oak chair to crush two men against the bookshelves. He trapped three more in the master bathroom, locking the reinforced steel security door behind them.
He was fighting for his life, but more importantly, he was fighting for the family he had just found.
Finally, silence fell over the second floor. Vincent leaned against the wall, his breathing heavy, his black dress shirt torn at the sleeve. He had neutralized the strike team. He checked his weapon. Empty. He tossed it aside and walked back down the grand staircase, his broad shoulders squared, ready to check on his children.
As he reached the bottom step, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion were pushed open.
Standing in the doorway, surrounded by the swirling blizzard outside, was a man Vincent recognized instantly. It was Lorenzo Moretti, the head of the rival family. He was an older man, dressed in a thick camel-hair coat, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane. Behind him stood six elite bodyguards, untouched by the fighting inside.
And walking beside Lorenzo, looking completely infuriated but triumphant, was Celeste. She had clearly been freed from the trunk of the car at the shipyard. Her emerald gown was ruined, her blonde hair messy, but her eyes burned with absolute hatred.
You put up a good fight, Vincent, Lorenzo said, his Italian accent thick and slow. But you are out of men, out of bullets, and out of time.
Celeste stepped forward, pointing a manicured finger at Vincent. I told you, Vincent. You should have left me outside.
Where are the children? Celeste demanded, scanning the ruined foyer. Julian! Come to me immediately!
Silence answered her.
Vincent stood perfectly straight, unbuttoning his ruined tuxedo jacket and letting it fall to the floor. He rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, exposing his heavily muscled forearms. I told you once today, Celeste, Vincent said, his voice echoing in the grand hall. I don't have a son for you to command.
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He cracked his neck, his eyes locking onto Lorenzo's elite guards. If you want my family, you're going to have to go through me with your bare hands.
Lorenzo nodded slowly. So be it. He gestured with his cane, and the six massive bodyguards cracked their knuckles and stepped forward, surrounding Vincent in the center of his own home.
