Chapter 5 - The Glass Fortress
The storm finally broke over New York, pouring sheet after sheet of icy rain onto the winding roads of Upstate.
A convoy of five pitch-black armored SUVs tore through the night, their engines roaring like hunting beasts. Inside the lead vehicle, Lorenzo sat in total darkness. Beside him, sitting quietly in a high-tech car seat secured to the leather interior, was eight-month-old baby Isabella—whom Lorenzo had officially named Bella, after her mother.
Sophia, the housemaid, sat beside the child, holding a bottle of milk, still trembling from the violent events at the mansion. Lorenzo had refused to leave the child behind; he wasn't letting her out of his sight ever again.
"Ten minutes to the sanatorium, Boss," the driver reported, his eyes glued to the rain-slick highway. "Our scouts report heavy security around the estate. Don Salvatore’s private mercenaries have locked down the building. They know we're coming."
Lorenzo didn't look up from his phone screen, which displayed a blueprint of the St. Jude Private Sanatorium. It was a heavily fortified medical facility hidden deep in the pine woods—a place where the wealthy mobsters paid to hide secrets, run illegal operations, or keep high-value hostages off the grid.
"Do not wait for negotiations," Lorenzo ordered quietly, sliding a fresh magazine into his automatic rifle. "Kill anyone wearing a Moretti badge."
Ten minutes later, the convoy smashed through the high wrought-iron gates of the sanatorium without slowing down. Glass and metal twisted into rain-soaked shrapnel.
Alarm sirens wailed through the midnight woods. Mercenaries in tactical gear poured out of the facility’s front entrance, opening fire with automatic rifles. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the heavy armor of Lorenzo's lead SUV.
"Go!" Marco yelled from the second vehicle.
Lorenzo’s men spilled out of the convoy like a black wave. The night exploded into thunderous gunfire, flashes of muzzle light illuminating the dark pine trees and white marble steps of the facility.
Lorenzo stepped out of the vehicle, his trench coat snapping in the freezing wind. He didn't duck. He walked through the gunfire with lethal precision, raising his rifle and dropping three enemy guards before they could even aim at his chest. His men swept behind him, clearing the courtyard in less than three minutes with brutal, surgical efficiency.
The heavy glass doors of the facility were breached with C4 explosives. A deafening BOOM shook the foundation, shattering the entrance into a million crystalline pieces.
Lorenzo stepped through the smoke and fire into the grand medical lobby. The air smelled of ozone, burnt gunpowder, and antiseptic chemicals.
Dr. Joseph Sterling, the director of the clinic, was cowering behind the central marble desk, a pair of security guards standing over him with trembling pistols.
Lorenzo didn't waste words. He fired two rounds into the ceiling, the deafening cracks echoing through the grand lobby.
"Room 402," Lorenzo demanded, walking straight toward the desk.
The two guards dropped their weapons instantly, raising their hands in surrender. Dr. Sterling, pale and sweating profusely, scrambled to his feet, pointing a shaking finger toward the east wing elevator.
"Fourth floor!" the doctor shrieked. "Left hallway! Please, don't shoot! I was just paid to oversee her medical care! I didn't know who she was!"
Lorenzo grabbed the doctor by his collar, dragging him along as a human shield. "You kept my wife sedated for eight months?"
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"Don Salvatore said she was a flight risk!" Sterling wept as they entered the elevator. "We gave her light neuro-inhibitors... just enough to keep her weak! She doesn't even know what year it is!"
Lorenzo’s hand tightened on the doctor's throat so hard the man’s eyes rolled back. "If she has a single permanent scar from your chemicals, I will burn this building down with you tied to the operating table."
