Chapter 8 - UNDER SIEGE
The compound plunged into instant chaos.
A deafening explosion rocked the east wing, rattling the bulletproof windows of the nursery and sending a plume of black smoke and debris into the night sky. The blast threw Dante across the rug; he rolled instantly to his feet, shielding Sera and the twins with his broad frame as plaster dust rained down from the ceiling.
"Marco!" Dante roared into his comm unit, his tender demeanor vanishing in a heartbeat, replaced by the lethal commander. "Status!"
"They breached the southern gate with an armored truck!" Marco’s voice screamed over heavy automatic gunfire. "They're using RPGs! We can't hold the courtyard for more than ten minutes!"
The twins began to wail, terrified by the concussive force of the blast.
Dante turned to Sera. His face was set in grim, unyielding lines. "The panic room behind the library is compromised—the east wing took the hit. We have to take the service tunnels under the cellar to the helipad on the north ridge."
"What about Julian?" Sera asked, quickly strapping the double carrier across her chest and securing the infants.
"Julian is no longer our concern," Dante said coldly, racking the slide of his tactical rifle. "Stay behind me. If anything happens to me, you run to the tree line. The pilot has orders to extract you and the boys to Switzerland. The accounts are in your name."
"Nothing is going to happen to you," Sera snapped, adjusting the acoustic muffs over the babies' ears. "You don't get to die after making me promises, Dante Ferraro."
A fierce, feral grin cut across Dante’s face for a split second. "Then let's go kill some Morettis."
They moved into the smoke-filled corridor. Emergency sirens wailed throughout the estate, bathed in the flashing crimson strobe of security lights. Dante led the way, his rifle raised, firing double-taps into two mercenaries who rounded the staircase corner. The men collapsed instantly, their weapons clattering against the marble.
Sera followed closely, shielding the babies with her arms, her lips pressed against the fabric of the carrier, humming a steady, low drone. One, two. One, two. The infants were crying, but the sound was contained, muffled against her chest and drowned out by the thunderous concussions echoing through the compound.
They reached the heavy steel door leading to the cellar. Dante punched in the emergency override code, pulling the heavy door open.
Inside, the cellar was dimly lit, rows of antique wine racks casting long, barred shadows across the stone floor. At the far end lay the entrance to the underground escape tunnel.
A shadow stepped out from behind a massive concrete pillar.
Victor Moretti.
The rival don was in his late fifties, his silver hair slicked back, wearing a tactical vest over a tailored Italian shirt. In his hand, he held a submachine gun pointed directly at Dante’s chest. Flanking him were three heavily armed enforcers.
"End of the line, Dante," Moretti sneered, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Julian gave us the tunnel blueprints before you locked him up. Did you really think you could take the northern territories and leave my family with scraps?"
Dante didn't raise his rifle; doing so would have drawn immediate fire with Sera standing three feet behind him.
"This is between us, Victor," Dante said, stepping slightly to the left to cover Sera with his body. "Let the woman and the children take the tunnel. We finish this like men."
Moretti laughed, a dry, cruel sound. "The children? The future heirs of the Ferraro bloodline? I don't leave weeds to grow back in my garden, Dante. They die first. Then you watch your little girlfriend beg for her life before I put a bullet in your head."
Moretti raised his weapon to aim past Dante, directly at the carrier strapped to Sera's chest.
Time slowed to an unbearable crawl.
Sera knew that Dante couldn't raise his rifle faster than Moretti’s finger could pull the trigger. There was only one weapon left to her—the one weapon no mobster ever anticipated.
Sera stepped out from behind Dante’s shoulder and unleashed a high-frequency, piercing vocal screech—a clinical vocalization technique used to shatter attention in catatonic patients, perfectly amplified by the acoustic resonance of the arched stone ceiling.
The pitch was unnatural, devastatingly loud, vibrating at precisely 3,200 Hertz—the exact frequency that causes involuntary acoustic shock in the human inner ear.
Moretti and his three men instinctively flinched, their hands jerking toward their ears as their balance centers misfired.
It was the only fraction of a second Dante needed.
Dante’s rifle came up in a blur of motion. Three controlled bursts shattered the cellar air.
The two enforcers on the left collapsed instantly. Moretti, recovering from the acoustic shock, fired a wild spray of bullets as he fell backward. The concrete wall beside Sera erupted in a shower of sparks and pulverized stone.
Dante charged forward, tackling Moretti to the floor, knocking the submachine gun across the room. Moretti drew a combat knife, slashing viciously, catching Dante across the forearm. But Dante was a machine built for slaughter. He grabbed Moretti’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening pop, then drove his fist into Moretti’s jaw with crushing force.
The rival don went limp, sprawling unconscious on the bloody concrete.
Dante stood up, breathing heavily, clutching his bleeding arm. He looked at Sera, his eyes wide with utter astonishment.
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"What in God’s name was that?" he gasped.
"Neurologic sensory disruption," Sera said, her voice shaking as she lowered her hands from the twins' ears. "I told you. Rhythmic entrainment works both ways. Now let's get the hell out of here before the rest of them show up."
