Chapter 6 - The Breach
The attack came not in the dead of night, but during a torrential rainstorm at dusk two days later.
Don Salvatore Mangano was a desperate man. The death of Jimmy Moretti had severely damaged his street credibility, and rumors were spreading that the powerful Torino family was preparing for a total takeover of his territory. Knowing he couldn't win a prolonged war of attrition, Mangano decided on a high-risk, ruthless strike: kidnap the maid and her child, force Vincent into a trap, and execute him on Mangano’s terms.
A heavy delivery truck carrying forged security clearance papers backed up to the estate’s secondary service gate. Before the guards could verify the credentials, the back doors of the truck flew open, and ten heavily armed mercenaries carrying automatic weapons stormed through the gate.
Gunfire erupted across the peaceful grounds of the estate.
Tracer rounds cut through the heavy rain, shattering the glass panels of the greenhouse and tearing through the manicured hedges. The estate’s security team responded instantly, but the surprise attack allowed half a dozen mercenaries to breach the side entrance leading to the grand mansion.
Inside the house, alarms blared loudly, flashing red emergency lights across the dark hallways.
In the third-floor suite, Carmen pulled Isabella into her arms, hiding her inside a reinforced master closet. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, the terrifying sounds of distant gunshots echoing through the floorboards.
“Mommy, I’m scared!” Isabella sobbed, burying her face in Carmen’s sweater.
“Shh, baby, stay quiet,” Carmen whispered frantically, holding the child tight. “Vincent won’t let them hurt us. Remember what he promised?”
Downstairs, the front doors were kicked open.
Three mercenaries rushed into the main foyer, their boots squeaking on the polished marble. They raised their rifles, checking the shadows of the grand staircase.
“Clear the ground floor!” the lead mercenary shouted. “Find the girl and the woman! Boss wants them alive!”
“I’m afraid you’re in the wrong house,” a deep voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
The mercenaries looked up.
Vincent Torino stood on the landing above them. He wore no jacket, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing arms scarred from old battles. In his hands, he held a heavy tactical shotgun.
Before the mercenaries could raise their rifles, Vincent pulled the trigger.
The deafening roar of the shotgun filled the foyer. The lead mercenary was lifted off his feet by the force of the blast, crashing through the glass coffee table below.
Vincent moved with terrifying speed and lethal efficiency. He racked the shotgun, fired a second time, taking out the second mercenary, then smoothly dropped the heavy weapon, drew his custom pistol, and put three precise rounds into the third man before he could even squeeze his trigger.
In less than five seconds, the foyer was silent again, save for the blaring alarms and the sound of rain beating against the high stained-glass windows.
Marco ran into the foyer from the kitchen corridor, covered in rain and gunpowder smoke, holding an assault rifle.
“The perimeter is secure!” Marco shouted over the alarms. “We eliminated eight of them outside! But two got past us—they went up the rear service stairs!”
Vincent’s heart stopped. The rear service stairs led directly to the third floor.
Without a word, Vincent sprinted up the marble staircase, his heart pounding with a wild, terrifying desperation he had never felt in his entire life. He didn't care about his mansion; he didn't care about his empire; his entire soul was screaming for the woman and the child hiding above.
He reached the third-floor corridor just as a heavily armed mercenary was raising his boot to kick open the door to Carmen’s suite.
“Hey!” Vincent roared.
The mercenary spun around, bringing his rifle up, but Vincent tackled him with the force of a freight train. The two men crashed through the wooden door, tumbling onto the floor of the sitting room.
The mercenary was younger and larger, scrambling to gain control of his weapon. He managed to land a heavy punch to Vincent’s jaw, throwing him backward against the coffee table. The mercenary raised his handgun, aiming directly at Vincent’s chest.
“Die, old man!” the mercenary hissed.
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the room—but it didn't come from the mercenary’s gun.
The mercenary gasped, his eyes going wide with shock as a red stain bloomed on his chest. He collapsed sideways onto the rug.
Behind him stood Carmen.
She was shaking uncontrollably, holding Vincent’s secondary revolver—a gun she had retrieved from the nightstand drawer—with both hands. Tears were streaming down her face, her chest heaving as she dropped the heavy gun onto the floor.
Vincent sat up, wiping a trace of blood from his lip. He looked at the fallen mercenary, then looked up at Carmen standing in the middle of the room like a fierce, protective lioness.
Vincent let out a long breath, a bloody grin breaking across his face.
“Not bad for a maid,” Vincent rasped out softly.
Carmen dropped to her knees, running to him, throwing her arms around his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. “Vincent! Oh God, Vincent, you’re bleeding!”
Vincent wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest, burying his face in her hair. For thirty years he had fought alone, but holding her in the middle of the ruined room, he realized he would tear the world apart before he ever let anyone take her away.
May you like
“I’m fine,” Vincent whispered into her ear, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you, Carmen. You’re safe.”
Isabella peeked out from the closet door, tears in her eyes. Vincent extended his arm, inviting her over. She ran into their embrace, wrapping her tiny arms around both of them as the rain poured outside, washing away the blood of their enemies.
