Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE OF THE HUDSON VALLEY
The heavy iron door of the cellar slammed shut behind Elena and me, the metallic clank echoing off the damp stone walls like the tolling of a funeral bell.
I stood in the dim light of the underground room, cradling Niko tightly against my chest. The baby finally let out a soft, restless whimper, sensing the spike of adrenaline and terror pulsing through my veins.
“Serena, listen to me,” Elena whispered urgently, grabbing my arm. Her face was pale, her fingers trembling as she pointed to a small wooden crate resting against the far wall. “Julian said there were supplies down here. Blankets, water... and look.”
She lifted the lid of a second crate. Inside sat a heavy 9mm pistol and two spare magazines, neatly oiled and ready for use.
“You know how to shoot?” I asked, staring at the gun in disbelief.
“Dad took us hunting in the Poconos every autumn until I was sixteen,” Elena said, her voice steadying as she picked up the weapon and checked the magazine. “I haven't forgotten.”
Above us, the first muffled boom shook the stone foundation of the estate.
It wasn't a gunshot. It was a breaching charge.
Lucian wasn't knocking on the front door. He was blowing it off its hinges.
Inside the main hall of the estate, the heavy oak doors splintered into a thousand flying shards of wood as a concussion grenade rolled across the stone floor, detonating with a blinding flash of white light and a deafening shockwave that rattled the antique chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
Julian Moretti stood at the top of the grand staircase, his assault rifle raised, his face half-shadowed by the flickering wall sconces.
Through the billow of grey smoke marching up the steps came the black-clad figures of Lucian’s enforcers, led by Marco Vitale. But striding through the center of them, coat tails sweeping the ash-covered floor, was Lucian himself.
His eyes were fixed entirely on the top of the staircase.
“Julian,” Lucian’s voice cut through the lingering smoke like a razor blade. “You always did know how to make an entrance. Too bad you don't know how to stay dead.”
“Hello, little brother,” Julian called down, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his rifle. “I see you still haven't learned how to knock. Mother would be so ashamed of your manners.”
Lucian didn't smile. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, drawing a heavy silver-plated pistol from his shoulder holster with terrifying ease.
“Where is my wife?” Lucian demanded, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal growl. “Where is my son?”
“They’re safe, Lucian,” Julian replied smoothly. “Far away from a monster who thinks a family is just another asset to be traded away for a shipping route and a blonde trophy wife in Sicily.”
Marco stepped up beside Lucian, his submachine gun raised toward Julian’s chest. “Boss, give the order. We clear the house, take the ledger back, and recover the boy.”
Lucian raised his pistol, aiming directly at his brother’s heart.
“Kill him,” Lucian whispered.
Before Marco could pull the trigger, Julian fired a three-round burst into the chandelier winch above the staircase. The massive iron chain snapped with a deafening screech of stressed metal, and the multi-ton crystal chandelier plunged downward, crashing directly onto the steps between the ground floor and the landing, scattering Marco’s men in a chaotic scramble of dust and falling glass.
In the blinding confusion, Julian vanished into the shadows of the upper hallway.
“Spread out!” Marco roared, coughing through the plaster dust. “Find him! And check the lower levels! The cellar doors are down the west hall!”
Down in the dark, damp cellar, Elena and I heard the heavy thud of boots running across the floorboards directly above our heads.
“They’re in the west hall,” Elena whispered, raising the 9mm pistol with both hands, her stance surprisingly rigid and professional. She positioned herself directly in front of the iron cellar door, eyes locked on the latch.
“Elena, if they get through—” I started, my heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst through my ribs.
“They won't get through,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a fierce, unwavering whisper. “Not while I’m breathing.”
Suddenly, the heavy iron door rattled violently. Someone was trying the handle.
Then came the sound of a mechanical tool—a plasma cutter or a heavy-duty drill—screeching against the steel hinges just above the lock. Sparks began to shower down through the narrow crack at the top of the frame, glowing orange in the pitch-black basement.
They were burning the door open.
I looked down at Niko. He had finally fallen back asleep against my chest, completely unaware that his father’s enforcers were carving their way through the steel to reach us.
I pulled my winter coat tighter around him, my hand slipping inside the pocket to grip the heavy brass doorknob of the old emergency escape tunnel carved into the rear wall of the cellar—a tunnel Julian had told us about before locking us in.
“Elena,” I called out softly. “The tunnel is open.”
She glanced back at me over her shoulder, keeping her gun aimed squarely at the sparking iron door.
“Go,” Elena said. “I’ll cover the rear.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said fiercely.
May you like
“Serena, if Lucian gets his hands on you and Niko, we all lose,” Elena said, her eyes burning with tears and unyielding resolve. “Now run. I’ll buy you ten minutes. And in our world, ten minutes is a lifetime.”
The iron door groaned, the locking mechanism finally giving way with a loud POP as the heavy slab swung inward, revealing the dark, menacing silhouette of Marco Vitale standing in the doorway with a gun drawn.
