Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF VILLA DUCA
The sound of the sniper’s bullet cracking through the winter air was secondary to the deafening explosion of the reinforced glass. Instinct, honed by decades of paranoia and violence, took over Lorenzo’s body before conscious thought could form.
He lunged forward, throwing his broad, heavy frame over Mia and tackling Elara to the thick Persian rug. The three of them hit the floor just as a second bullet tore through the leather backing of the chair Lorenzo had been sitting in seconds before. Feathers and shredded leather rained down on them.
"Down! Stay down!" Lorenzo roared over the sudden cacophony of alarms blaring throughout the estate. The wail of the sirens was mechanical and relentless, a shrieking testament that the perimeter had been breached.
Pino was instantly on his feet, barking wildly, his teeth bared in a snarl that sounded demonic. He stood over them, a black shield of muscle and fury.
Mia woke up screaming in pure terror. Elara grabbed her daughter, pressing the little girl’s face into her chest, wrapping her body around the child like a human cocoon. "Shh, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you," Elara chanted, her voice shaking violently.
Lorenzo drew the heavy Glock 19 from his shoulder holster, his eyes scanning the shattered window. The trajectory meant the shooter was elevated—likely in the treeline beyond the eastern wall.
The heavy oak doors of the living room burst open, and three of Lorenzo’s elite guards rushed in, assault rifles raised.
"Boss!" the lead guard, a scarred veteran named Marco, yelled, dropping to a crouch beside them. "Coordinated strike. They blew the main gate with a breaching charge. We have multiple hostiles in the courtyard. Rossis and Morettis, wearing tactical gear."
"How many?" Lorenzo demanded, his voice absolute ice. He wasn't afraid. He was furious. They had brought violence into the room where the child was sleeping.
"At least forty, sir. They brought heavy ordinance. They’re trying to push into the main house."
"Get them to the bunker," Lorenzo ordered, pointing at Elara and Mia. "Marco, you don't leave her side. If a fly lands on them, I’ll kill you myself."
Elara grabbed Lorenzo’s sleeve, her eyes wild with fear. "Lorenzo, you come with us! Don't go out there!"
He looked down at her, his face a terrifying mask of the mafia king he truly was. The tenderness he had shown reading the book was gone, replaced by the apex predator. "They broke into my house, Elara. They aimed a rifle at my family. Take her to the bunker. I will come down when they are all dead."
He didn't wait for her to argue. Lorenzo stood, racking the slide of his pistol, and sprinted toward the hallway, two guards flanking him.
The estate had turned into a warzone. The staccato pop of automatic gunfire echoed off the marble floors and vaulted ceilings. Smoke began to fill the corridors as incendiary grenades were tossed through the shattered ground-floor windows.
Lorenzo moved with lethal precision. He didn't blind-fire; he didn't panic. He rounded a corner into the grand foyer just as three Moretti hitters kicked through the remains of the front doors. Lorenzo dropped the first two with a double-tap to the chest and head. The third managed to raise his submachine gun, but Lorenzo closed the distance, grabbed the hot barrel of the weapon, shoved it upward, and fired point-blank into the man's throat.
Blood sprayed across the pristine white marble. Lorenzo stepped over the twitching body, his expression blank.
"Status on the security systems?" Lorenzo yelled into his earpiece, ducking behind a heavy marble pillar as a hail of bullets chipped the stone above his head.
"Internal cameras are still up, Boss," his security chief replied through the static. "They're trying to flank through the kitchen and the east wing. They want you, Lorenzo. They have orders to leave no survivors."
"Route all remaining men to the choke points in the east and west corridors," Lorenzo barked. "Let them flood the foyer. We catch them in a crossfire."
As Lorenzo reloaded his weapon, he heard a sound that froze the blood in his veins.
It wasn't gunfire. It wasn't an explosion. It was the frantic, panicked voice of Marco coming through the earpiece.
"Boss! We didn't make it to the bunker! The south stairwell was rigged. We're trapped on the second floor, outside the library. They're coming up the stairs! I'm pinned down!"
Lorenzo’s heart stopped. The bunker was in the basement. If they were trapped on the second floor, they were sitting ducks.
"Hold the line, Marco. I'm coming," Lorenzo snarled.
He broke cover, ignoring the incoming fire from the foyer, and sprinted toward the grand staircase. He vaulted over the banister, taking the steps three at a time. The air was thick with cordite and plaster dust. As he reached the landing, he saw them.
Five heavily armed Rossi mercenaries were advancing down the corridor toward the library. Marco was bleeding from a shoulder wound, blind-firing around the corner of the heavy oak doors, desperately trying to keep them at bay. Inside the library, Lorenzo could hear Elara’s voice, trying to soothe a hysterically crying Mia.
Lorenzo didn't shout a warning. He raised his weapon and walked straight down the center of the hallway, a relentless angel of death.
He shot the first mercenary in the back of the knee, and as the man dropped, he put a bullet through the base of his skull. The other four spun around, shock registering on their faces as they saw the Don himself charging them in the open.
They raised their weapons, but Lorenzo was faster. He dropped two more before a searing, white-hot pain ripped through his left side. The impact spun him around, throwing him against the wall, but he didn't drop his gun. He braced himself against the blood-splattered wallpaper, aimed, and emptied the rest of his magazine into the final two attackers.
Silence fell over the corridor, save for the ringing in his ears and the frantic crying from inside the library.
Lorenzo slid down the wall, clutching his side. Blood, dark and thick, began to pool between his fingers.
The library door cracked open. Elara peeked out, her face pale with terror. When she saw Lorenzo bleeding on the floor, she dropped the heavy iron fire poker she had been holding as a weapon and ran to him, falling to her knees.
"Lorenzo! Oh god, you're hit. You're hit!" Her hands were instantly on him, pressing desperately against the wound to stem the bleeding.
He looked up at her, his vision blurring slightly at the edges. Despite the pain, he managed a faint, bloody smile. "Are you and Mia safe?"
"We're safe. We're okay," she sobbed, ripping the sleeve of her cashmere sweater to pack the wound. "You stupid, stubborn man. You promised you wouldn't get killed."
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"I never promised that," Lorenzo whispered, his head resting back against the wall as darkness began to edge into his periphery. "I just promised I'd finish the mission."
And for the first time in thirteen years, Lorenzo Duca closed his eyes and let someone else take the watch.
