Chapter 4 - The Siege of Caruso Manor
The heavy smell of cordite and burning insulation filled the air as I scrambled to my feet in the pitch darkness. The explosion had come from the East Wing power substation—Vincent had blown the estate’s primary generators, cutting off the automated security shutters, the electric perimeter fences, and the internal comms.
Above me, the muffled sound of heavy automatic gunfire erupted.
Moretti’s assault team had breached the perimeter.
I didn't waste a second searching for Vincent in the dark corridor. He was a coward; he would head for the main gates to meet Moretti’s breach team. My only priority was on the third floor.
I sprinted up the service stairs, drawing my backup Glock from my ankle holster. Dust choked the stairwell, and the emergency red lights flickered erratically like dying embers.
When I reached the third floor, the sound of gunfire was deafening. The estate’s loyal guards were locked in a violent firefight in the main foyer below, holding off dozens of Moretti’s mercs pouring through the shattered front doors.
"Dominic!"
I turned to see Marco sliding behind a marble pillar on the third-floor landing, his tactical vest shredded by shrapnel, bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead. He was firing his AR-15 down into the grand foyer.
"They breached the North Gate with a tactical ram!" Marco yelled over the deafening noise of automatic weapons. "Vincent cut the security codes! Half our men were caught off guard in the barracks!"
"Where is Hannah and the baby?" I demanded, pulling him behind cover as a hail of 5.56 rounds shattered the plaster wall above our heads.
"They’re still inside the master suite! I put three men on the door, but we’re getting flanked from the East Wing stairs!"
"Hold this landing!" I ordered, slapping a fresh magazine into his hand. "Don't let a single enemy up these stairs!"
"On it, Boss!" Marco racked his rifle and leaned back out into the firestorm.
I sprinted down the long, carpeted corridor toward the master suite. The three guards I had posted outside were dead, slumped against the wall in pools of dark blood. The heavy mahogany door to the suite was standing half-open.
My heart seized with a terror I had never felt in thirty-four years of life.
I burst through the door, my gun raised. "Hannah!"
The suite was wrecked. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens had been blown inward, showering the plush rug with glittering glass shards.
In the corner of the room, behind the heavy oak desk, Hannah was crouching, her body wrapped tightly around Grace like a shield. She was sobbing hysterically, but she had her hands clamped over the baby's ears to protect her from the terrifying noise of the battle.
Grace was crying—a small, helpless sound that pierced right through the chaotic noise of gunfire outside.
"Dominic!" Hannah gasped, looking up with wild, terrified eyes. "They came through the balcony! Two men—"
On the floor beside the desk lay two of Moretti’s tactical mercs, both shot through the neck. Standing over them, holding a smoking 9mm pistol with trembling hands, was my personal assistant, Clara—a quiet thirty-year-old woman I had hired three years ago. Her arm was bleeding, but her eyes were fierce.
"I kept them off her, Mr. Caruso," Clara panted, handing the gun back to me. "Just like you trained us."
"Good girl, Clara," I said grimly. "Take the secret passage behind the bookcase. It leads directly to the underground storm drainage system. Get Hannah and Grace down there. Now!"
"No!" Hannah cried, pulling Grace tighter. "I'm not leaving without you!"
I knelt down in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders. I looked directly into her tear-filled eyes, then down at Grace, who was reaching her tiny, trembling hand toward my face.
"Listen to me, Hannah," I said, my voice commanding yet fiercely gentle. "Vincent betrayed us. Moretti is downstairs with fifty men. They want the baby, and they want the chip around her neck. If you stay here, we all die. Take the passage. Go to the safehouse in Cape May—the address is written on the back of the picture frame in my vault. I will draw them away."
"Dominic... please," she sobbed.
I reached out and took Grace’s tiny hand in mine for a brief second. The gold ring in her gray eyes sparkled in the flashing muzzle lights outside.
"Always come home," I whispered, repeating the words I had carved onto Julian’s medal sixteen years ago. "I will find you."
I pressed a keycard into Hannah’s hand, pulled open the hidden bookcase door, and ushered them into the dark concrete tunnel beyond. As the heavy secret door sealed behind them, shutting out their footprints, a heavy weight lifted off my chest.
They were safe for now.
Now, it was time to make Caruso Manor a graveyard.
I turned back to the ruined suite, racked my rifle, and walked out into the hallway.
Below in the grand foyer, the gunfire had slowed to sporadic shots. I walked to the third-floor balcony railing and looked down into the smoke-filled hall.
Dozens of armed men lined the marble floor. Standing in the center of the destruction, wearing a long black overcoat, was Victor Moretti. Beside him stood Vincent Rizzo, holding a blood-stained laptop.
"Dominic!" Victor’s voice boomed up through the smoke, echoing off the high ceilings. "It's over! Your men are dead or captured! Your house is taken! Come down and face your judgment!"
I stepped up to the marble railing, fully visible in the dim light, my rifle resting casually across my shoulder.
"You brought a lot of men to die in my house, Victor," I called down, my voice icy, echoing back at him with absolute calm.
Victor chuckled sinisterly, spreading his hands. "I have fifty men here, Dominic! You are alone! Where is the girl? Where is Julian’s bastard?"
"She’s somewhere you will never reach," I replied. "And as for you, Vincent..."
Vincent stepped forward, looking up at me with a mixture of contempt and fear. "Give it up, Dominic! I have the security logs! I know Julian hid the master key on a physical drive! Give us the drive, and Victor will let you walk away!"
"You always were an idiot, Vincent," I said softly. "You served my father for thirty years, but you never learned the most important rule about this house."
Vincent froze. "What rule?"
I pulled a small black transmitter from my pocket—the master control for the estate’s secondary emergency protocols.
"My father didn't build this estate to be captured," I said, looking down at the traitors. "He built it to be a trap."
I pressed the red button.
A series of heavy, hydraulic steel shutters slammed down from the ceilings over every window, every door, and every exit point in the mansion. In less than three seconds, the grand foyer was completely sealed off from the outside world, transformed into an airtight steel box.
Panic erupted among Moretti’s men. They rushed the steel-reinforced doors, firing their weapons uselessly against the bulletproof plating.
"What did you do?!" Victor screamed, his smooth composure breaking into wild terror as he looked up at me. "What did you do?!"
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"The air vents in this hall are connected to the central heating system," I said calmly, pulling a tactical gas mask over my face. "In thirty seconds, military-grade neurotoxin will flood this foyer. You wanted Julian’s secret, Victor? You can ask him yourself in hell."
I turned away from the balcony as the hissed release of pressurized gas began to fill the grand foyer below, accompanied by the desperate, terrified screams of the men who had dared to touch my family.
