Chapter 4 - The Breach
Carmine didn't panic. He stood up smoothly, pulling a sleek matte-black 9mm pistol from a hidden shoulder holster beneath his jacket and racking the slide with an efficient clack.
“How many?” Carmine asked, his voice turns into ice.
“At least fifteen,” Mateo replied. “Armed with automatic weapons. They brought a transport truck through the security fences. They’re cut off from the main road, but they’re pushing hard toward the main house.”
Carmine turned to Ivy. The softness in his eyes from moments before was completely replaced by the cold, calculating fury of a mafia sovereign.
“Leo,” Carmine commanded the guard outside the door. “Take Ivy into the reinforced panic room behind the study wall. Do not open that door for anyone until I give the command.”
“No!” Ivy cried out, standing up and grabbing Carmine’s arm. “Carmine, please! Come with us! You can’t fight them alone!”
Carmine paused, looking down at her hand gripping his sleeve. He raised his free hand, cupping her cheek gently, his thumb smoothing over her fully healed lip.
“I am not alone, Ivy,” Carmine said softly, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corner of his lips. “This is my house. They made a mistake coming here.”
He kissed her forehead quickly—a warm, firm pressure that made her heart leap into her throat—then pushed her gently toward Leo.
“Go. Now.”
Leo guided Ivy swiftly down the narrow private staircase leading from the third floor down to Carmine’s private study on the ground level. Behind them, the sounds of gunfire began to echo through the grand marble hallways—sharp, rapid bursts of automatic fire mixed with the heavy thud of breaching charges.
Inside the study, Leo stepped up to a large oak bookshelf, reached behind a leather-bound volume of legal texts, and pressed a hidden lever.
A portion of the heavy bookcase swung inward with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing a small, steel-lined room equipped with monitoring screens, emergency rations, and independent air filtration systems.
“Inside, Miss Ivy,” Leo urged, pushing her gently into the vault. “Stay low.”
Ivy stepped inside, but before Leo could pull the heavy steel door shut, a violent explosion rocked the study floor.
The heavy mahogany doors of the study blew inward in a shower of splintered wood and brass hinges. Smoke poured into the room, thick and acrid.
Leo drew his weapon, but three heavily armed men in black tactical gear burst through the fog, firing instantly. Leo returned fire, dropping one intruder, but a burst of bullets struck his chest, sending him crashing back against the desk.
Ivy screamed, dropping to her knees inside the panic room.
Through the lingering smoke, a tall, broad man with a scarred face and a sneering grin stepped over Leo’s body. It was Dominic Moretti himself—the rival boss of East Nashville.
“Well, well,” Moretti chuckled, his raspy voice echoing off the study walls as his weapon swept over the panic room opening. “What do we have here? Carmine’s little secret.”
Moretti stepped toward the vault opening, reaching out a gloved hand to grab Ivy by her hair.
“Come here, girl,” Moretti sneered. “Let’s see how tough DeLuca is when I bring his prized pet back to my camp.”
Ivy backed against the steel wall, cornered, her heart pounding with frantic terror. She looked around desperately and spotted a heavy iron paperweight resting on a small side table inside the vault.
As Moretti reached into the vault to grab her, Ivy snatched the iron weight and swung it with all her strength, slamming it squarely into the side of his face.
Moretti roared in pain, staggering backward, blood spurting from his broken nose. “You little bitch!”
He raised his pistol toward her chest, his finger tightening on the trigger.
BANG.
A single shot rang out through the study.
Moretti froze. His eyes went wide with shock. A small, neat hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He slumped forward, crashing onto the hardwood floor like a felled oak tree.
Behind him, standing in the doorway through the fading smoke, was Carmine DeLuca.
His jacket was gone, his white shirt torn at the shoulder, blood dripping from a shallow graze on his forearm. His dark eyes burned with an unholy, lethal light as he lowered his smoking gun.
Behind Carmine, Mateo and six other DeLuca enforcers stood guard, their weapons trained on the hallway where the remaining attackers lay neutralized.
Carmine stepped over Moretti’s lifeless body, stepped into the panic room, and dropped to his knees in front of Ivy.
He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest.
“Are you hurt?” he rasped into her hair, his voice shaking with a rare, desperate emotion. “Ivy... tell me you’re okay.”
Ivy wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, sobbing with relief.
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“I’m okay,” she wept, holding onto him as if he were her only anchor in a storm. “I’m okay... you came for me.”
“Always,” Carmine swore against her skin. “I will always come for you.”
