Chapter 6 - The Siege of the Villa
The radio static hissed like an angry snake in the quiet hallway.
Marcus Sterling’s private security detail had arrived. They hadn't come to negotiate, and they hadn't come to talk. They had come to erase the last loose ends of a multi-million-dollar criminal conspiracy.
“How many?” Dominic barked into his shoulder mic, his casual demeanor instantly vanishing into the razor-sharp instincts of a seasoned tactical commander.
“At least two armored transport vans,” the intercom crackled back, the voice of the night watchman strained and breathless. “They bypassed the main gate electronic locks using a master override code. They’re deploying into the courtyard now—heavy weapons, suppression gear—”
The transmission cut off with a sudden, violent burst of white noise.
Then came the dull, heavy thud of an explosion echoing from the front entrance two floors below.
Matteo flinched, instinctively pressing his small hands over his ears. Clara rushed forward, scooping him up into her arms despite his protests, shielding his head against her shoulder as she hurried him toward the reinforced panic room in the corner of the suite.
“Arthur, Elena—get in the safe room,” I ordered, my voice dropping into the cold, commanding tone I hadn't used since my early days running the syndicate.
“I’m not hiding in a hole while my granddaughter’s husband fights my war, Vincent,” Arthur snapped, gripping his cane with both hands, his old eyes flashing with a dangerous, familiar fire. “If Marcus’s men want this ledger, they’re going to have to pull it out of my cold, dead hands.”
“You’re not fighting anyone, old man,” Dominic said, pulling a spare Glock from his tactical belt and shoving it into Arthur’s reluctant hand with surprising gentleness. “You’re getting the boy and the women down the emergency service chute to the subterranean garage. There’s an armored transport waiting behind the old boiler room.”
Elena didn't argue. She grabbed Matteo tightly, her face pale as she looked at me. “Vincent… don't die out there.”
“I’m not planning on it,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Go.”
The heavy steel door of the safe room hissed shut, sealing away the family I had spent forty days mourning and protecting in the dark.
Only two people remained in the nursery hallway: Dominic and me.
The man I had suspected of betrayal for forty days. And the man who had secretly protected my family while I chased ghosts.
Dominic checked the magazine of his service pistol with a sharp, metallic click. He looked sideways at me, a faint, grim smirk touching his lips.
“So,” Dominic muttered, adjusting his tactical vest. “Are we going to talk about how you nearly strangled me five minutes ago, or should we focus on the fifty armed mercenaries trying to blow our front doors off?”
“Let’s survive the mercenaries first,” I said, drawing my own weapon from its shoulder holster, the cool steel familiar and comforting against my palm. “Then I’ll decide if I want to apologize.”
“Fair enough,” Dominic nodded. “The main staircase is a death trap. They’ll try to breach through the second-floor library windows to flank us. You take the north balcony corridor. I’ll hold the central landing.”
“No,” I said, stepping past him toward the grand staircase. “We move together. Today, we take back my house.”
We sprinted down the dim hallway, the sound of heavy combat boots crunching on shattered glass echoing up from the grand foyer below.
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The battle for the Rossi villa had begun. And this time, I wasn't watching the cameras from a dark office—I was standing right in the crossfire.
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