Chapter 7 - SIEGE OF THE ESTATE
Gunfire erupted outside the manor, shattering the heavy silence of the night. The sound of automatic rifles echoing across the manicured lawns was a terrifying symphony of betrayal.
The heavy mahogany doors of the dining room burst open. Dante stumbled in, bleeding from a grazing wound to his shoulder, his sidearm drawn.
“Boss! It’s a coup. Julian’s men have breached the perimeter!” Dante shouted, firing two shots down the hallway to suppress incoming fire.
In the chaos, Julian kicked his heavy dining chair backward, drew a sleek 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster, and fired at me. I threw myself to the floor, the bullet shattering the crystal wine decanter on the table, showering me in red wine that looked entirely too much like blood.
“I’ll see you in hell, Leo!” Julian shouted, turning and diving out the east window. The glass shattered, and he disappeared into the rainy darkness of the estate grounds, surrounded by his loyalists.
I scrambled to my feet, brushing the glass from my coat. I drew my own weapon, a heavy custom .45 I hadn't fired in anger in years.
“Dante! Status!” I barked, moving toward the hallway.
“We have ten loyal men inside the house. Julian brought at least thirty,” Dante gritted out, reloading his weapon with one hand. “They’re trying to sweep the rooms.”
My heart seized. Maya and Sophie.
“Hold the main staircase,” I ordered Dante. “Do not let them reach the second floor. Shoot anyone who isn't wearing our family crest.”
I sprinted down the servants' corridor, the sounds of battle raging behind me. Bullets chewed through the priceless artwork and imported marble of my home. I didn't care about the house. I didn't care about the empire. For the first time in two years, I had something to protect.
I reached the staff quarters. The door to Maya’s room was wide open. Empty.
Panic, cold and sharp, gripped my throat. I ran down the corridor toward the wine cellar. A rogue guard—one of Julian’s bought men—stepped out from the kitchen, raising his rifle at me.
My instincts, honed over decades of violence, took over. I didn't hesitate. I raised my .45 and fired twice. Center mass. The traitor dropped to the tiles.
I kicked open the doors to the subterranean wine cellar. The air was cool and smelled of oak and earth. I moved past the racks of vintage Bordeaux and reached the blank stone wall at the back.
“Maya!” I yelled, banging my fist against the hidden steel door. “It’s Leo! Are you inside?”
A long, agonizing second passed. Then, the heavy steel door hissed and unsealed, swinging open a few inches. Maya stood there, trembling violently, clutching a heavy iron fire poker. Behind her, in the dimly lit panic room, Sophie was sitting on a cot, her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face.
“Mr. Romano,” Maya sobbed, dropping the poker.
“You’re safe,” I said quickly, pushing her back inside. “The door is bulletproof. Lock it. Do not open it until the shooting stops and you hear my voice saying the word Sophia. Only that word.”
Sophie looked up at me, her dark curls messy, her eyes wide with fear. “Mister? Are the bad men coming?”
I knelt down, looking into the eyes of the little girl who had dared to sit in my daughter’s chair. I reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek.
“No, Sophie,” I promised her, my voice completely steady. “I am the bad man. And I am going to make them go away.”
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I stood up, pulled the heavy steel door shut, and listened until I heard the heavy magnetic locks engage. Then, I turned back to the stairs, a demon unchained.
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