Chapter 9
The heavy, luxurious silence of the ballroom was shattered by a sudden, jarring mechanical click. The grand crystal chandeliers overhead flickered wildly for three seconds before plunging the entire room into absolute darkness.
Screams erupted from the wealthy guests as the bright cinematic colors were swallowed by the pitch black. Panic surged through the crowd, bodies crashing against each other in the dark.
"Nobody move!" Dominic roared, his powerful American accent cutting through the hysteria with commanding force. "Stay exactly where you are! Guards, night optics, now!"
The soft whir of tactical gear engaging echoed near the doors. Dominic didn't need night vision to know where his son was. He moved swiftly and silently across the dark marble floor, his polished shoes making barely a sound, until he felt the solid oak wood of the dining table. He crouched down, placing himself firmly in front of the barricade protecting Elena, Ethan, and Lily.
"Ethan? Are you there?" Dominic whispered into the dark.
"I'm here, Dad," Ethan’s small, brave voice replied from beneath the table. "I'm holding Lily's hand."
"Good boy," Dominic praised softly. "Elena, keep them low."
"I have them, Mr. Moretti," Elena whispered back, her voice shaking but fiercely protective.
Suddenly, the heavy brass deadbolts on the main ballroom doors rattled. Someone on the other side was attempting to breach the locks. The sound was deafening in the terrified silence of the room.
Dr. Harris, who had moved to take cover behind a marble pillar, spoke up, his voice calm and clinical despite the darkness. "Dominic, if they have compromised the external security, they likely have heavy weaponry. The wooden doors won't hold."
"They don't have heavy weaponry," Dominic replied coolly, his ruggedly handsome face set in grim determination in the dark. "If they start a massive firefight, the local police will respond in three minutes. They want this to look clean. An inside job. They are going to use suppressed weapons and try to take me and Ethan out quietly."
"Boss," one of the loyal guards whispered from the front of the room. "They are drilling the hinges. We have maybe thirty seconds before the doors come down."
Dominic calculated the odds with frightening speed. He had six loyal men in the room, plus himself. The guests were a liability, prone to panicking and getting in the crossfire. He needed a chokepoint.
"Fall back from the doors," Dominic ordered his men. "Form a semi-circle around the dining table. Let them breach the doors and step into the room. When they cross the threshold, we light them up."
The sound of soft footsteps on marble indicated his men moving into position. The tension was agonizing. The drilling sound at the doors grew louder, a high-pitched whine of metal eating metal.
Dominic checked the chamber of his weapon, his heavily tattooed hands steady and precise. He was a man who had survived a hundred wars in the underworld, but this was different. This wasn't a warehouse shootout or a street ambush. This was his home. His son. The brave little girl who had saved them.
"Dad," Ethan whispered from under the table, his voice finally cracking with fear. "I'm scared."
Dominic reached back, his large hand finding his son's shoulder in the dark. He squeezed gently.
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"Fear is just your body telling you to be ready, Ethan," Dominic said softly, his voice radiating absolute, unshakeable confidence. "I am right here. No one is going to touch you. I swear it on my life."
With a sudden, violent crash, the massive oak doors of the ballroom were kicked inward, splintering off their ruined hinges and slamming against the marble floor.
