Chapter 5 - The Siege of Lakeshore
The attack on the Mercer estate was not a random skirmish; it was a desperate, full-scale military assault by the remnants of the Moretti syndicate. Three armored SUVs had rammed through the outer iron gates, deploying twelve heavily armed mercenaries equipped with tactical body armor and automatic rifles.
Inside the master suite, the windows were reinforced with ballistic polycarbonate glass, which rattled under the impact of stray bullets but did not shatter. Caleb and four security officers stood in the foyer, returning fire through the reinforced gun-slits beside the main entry doors.
Nora had forced Vincent back onto the bed, her body positioned between him and the door as she checked his IV line. “We need to move you to the basement bunker. The security team can’t guarantee the perimeter if they bring in heavy explosives.”
“I am not hiding in a cellar while old men try to clean my house,” Vincent said, his jaw locked in a lethal grin. He reached beneath his mattress, pulling out a sleek, matte-black custom pistol that looked heavy enough to stop an engine block. He checked the chamber with a smooth, one-handed motion. “Nora, get behind the reinforced steel wall behind the closet. Now.”
“No,” Nora said, her face set in an expression that surprised even the mafia boss. She grabbed a portable medical emergency kit, slinging the strap over her shoulder. “If you go out there and your stitches tear, you’ll bleed out before Caleb can clear the driveway. Wherever you go, I go. I’m your medical proxy, remember?”
Vincent stared at her, a low, rumbling laugh breaking through the tension in his chest. “You are the most unreasonable woman I have ever met, Nurse Bennett.”
“I’m efficient,” she retorted.
The bedroom door was suddenly blown off its hinges by a localized breaching charge, filling the air with plaster dust and white smoke. A tall mercenary in a black balaclava stepped through the smoke, his rifle raised, his sights tracking directly toward Vincent’s chest.
Before the shooter could pull the trigger, Nora moved with an explosive, unhesitating speed that defied her size. She grabbed a heavy, solid-brass medical oxygen cylinder from the cart beside the bed and hurled it with all her might directly at the mercenary’s knees. The cylinder struck his shins with a sickening crack, sending him crashing face-first into the hardwood floor.
Vincent didn't miss the opportunity. With a single, precise shot from his black pistol, he neutralized the intruder before the man could recover.
The room fell silent again, save for the ringing in their ears and the smell of gunpowder. Vincent looked down at the unconscious mercenary, then up at Nora, who was panting, her scrubs covered in white plaster dust, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of her emergency kit.
“Nice throw,” Vincent murmured, his gray eyes shining with an intense, fierce admiration that made her heart race faster than the alarms ever could.
“He was disrupting my clinical environment,” Nora said, her voice shaking slightly but her hands remaining perfectly steady as she stepped over the body, reached down, and took Vincent’s left hand back into hers. “Now, let’s go to the bunker before someone else ruins my morning.”
Caleb burst into the room, his jacket torn, blood dripping from a superficial scratch on his cheek. “The perimeter is clear, boss. We handled the remaining three outside. But they weren't just Moretti men. We found transit logs on their phones. They were tipped off by someone inside the hospital. Someone who knew exactly what room you were in and when your private transport was arriving.”
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Vincent’s face turned into a mask of pure, absolute ice—the fearsome persona that had built an empire from the ashes of his youth. He squeezed Nora’s hand, his grip a reassuring, heavy weight.
“Call the car, Caleb,” Vincent whispered, his voice deadly calm. “We’re going back to Lakeshore Crown. It’s time to perform an autopsy on the management staff.”
