Chapter 6 - The Siege of Long Island
The peaceful silence of the Long Island shore was shattered by the sharp, deafening roar of automatic gunfire.
TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Glass shattered along the front conservatory as Valenti’s assault team breached the outer perimeter. Over a dozen heavily armed mercenaries clad in tactical gear swarmed through the iron gates, firing indiscriminately at the mansion facade.
From the second-floor balcony, Victor Hale and four Moretti guards returned fire, pinning the initial wave behind the stone fountain in the driveway.
“Hold the line!” Victor yelled into his comms. “Don't let them reach the main entrance!”
Down in the main foyer, Alessandro descended the grand marble staircase with slow, deadly confidence. In his hands, he carried a heavy tactical shotgun. His posture was relaxed, his dark eyes glowing with a lethal, icy calm.
A mercenary kicked through the heavy oak front doors, raising his rifle.
BOOM!
The force of Alessandro’s shotgun blasted the attacker backward through the shattered doorway, landing heavily on the gravel outside. Alessandro pumped the action smoothly, stepping over the threshold into the violent chaos of the front yard.
“Valenti!” Alessandro screamed above the gunfire, his voice echoing like thunder over the estate. “Is this the best you can do? Sending boys to do a man’s job?”
From behind an armored SUV parked near the gate, Lorenzo Valenti stepped out, shielded by three heavy enforcers. In his hand, Lorenzo held a detonator switch wired to remote charges attached to the security gate posts.
“You took my territory, Moretti!” Lorenzo yelled back, his face twisted in psychotic rage, his nose still bandaged from their Pier 42 confrontation. “You took my money! And now you have your cousin locked in your cellar! Hand over Marco and the shipping deeds, or I will turn this palace into your funeral pyre!”
“You’re standing on my land, Lorenzo,” Alessandro said softly, his voice cutting through the smoke and noise. “You came here to finish what you started three years ago. But you made a mistake.”
“What mistake?” Lorenzo sneered, signaling his men to flank the left side of the house.
“You came during the day,” Alessandro replied.
Suddenly, engine roars echoed from the tree line surrounding the estate.
Four heavy steel-plated trucks smashed through the perimeter hedges, completely surrounding Valenti’s men from behind. Dozens of Moretti soldiers—the full strength of Alessandro’s Brooklyn clan—poured out of the trucks, weapons raised, locking Valenti’s force in a lethal crossfire.
Lorenzo’s eyes went wide with sheer horror. “What... how did you call them so fast?”
“I didn't call them when you arrived, Lorenzo,” Alessandro said, walking slowly down the marble steps. “I called them the moment I left Pier 42 yesterday. I knew a rat like you wouldn't be able to resist taking a desperate bite.”
“Kill him!” Lorenzo screamed in a panic, ducking behind his SUV. “Kill them all!”
A violent firefight erupted across the manicured lawns. Muzzle flashes illuminated the gray morning air. Moretti’s men, hardened by years of street warfare, completely overwhelmed Valenti’s mercenaries. One by one, Valenti’s guards fell to the ground.
Frank Russo tried to break away, sprinting toward the ivy wall of the rear garden to escape.
Alessandro spotted him instantly.
“Victor! Clear the front!” Alessandro ordered, breaking into a run toward the rear grounds. “Russo is mine!”
Frank Russo scrambled through the ivy archway, panting heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached the center of the abandoned garden, searching frantically for an exit through the rear iron fence.
“Looking for a way out, Frank?”
Russo spun around, pulling his pistol.
Before he could raise his arm, Alessandro tackled him with immense force, driving the hitman into the damp earth right beside Arya’s painted stone. Russo’s gun flew out of his hand, landing in the mud.
Alessandro straddled the larger man, throwing a violent, punishing right hook that cracked Russo’s jaw.
“Agh!” Russo screamed, blood spraying from his mouth.
Alessandro grabbed Russo by the collar, slamming his head back against the dirt.
“October 14th!” Alessandro growled, his face inches from the hitman’s. “You cut the brake lines on the red sedan! Admit it!”
Russo spat blood, grinning spitefully through his broken teeth. “You... you think you’re so smart, Don Moretti! Yeah! I cut 'em! Lorenzo paid me half a million, and your pathetic cousin gave us the schedule! I watched that car go over the edge! I watched it crash into the rocks!”
A dark, terrifying roar escaped Alessandro’s throat. He drew his sidearm, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against Russo’s forehead.
“Say goodbye, Frank,” Alessandro whispered.
“Wait! Wait!” Russo screamed, terror finally overwhelming his arrogance. “There’s something you don't know! Something Lorenzo kept secret!”
Alessandro paused, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Speak.”
“The car... the car was empty when it hit the water!” Russo gasped out frantically, staring at the gun in panic. “Isabella saw me tampering with the vehicle in the school parking lot! She knew something was wrong! She didn't take the coastal road!”
Alessandro froze, his entire universe spinning violently on its axis. “What did you say?”
“The crash was a dummy!” Russo wheezed, desperate to bargain for his life. “Lorenzo realized she escaped, so his men chased her into the woods near the old lighthouse! They staged the car crash to hide the kidnapping! Lorenzo took them! He took your wife and daughter!”
Alessandro’s breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred with shock.
They didn't die in the crash.
“Where are they?” Alessandro roared, shaking Russo violently. “WHERE ARE THEY, FRANK?”
“I don't know! I swear to God I don't know!” Russo sobbed in fear. “Lorenzo kept them locked in a private property up north! He was keeping them as leverage in case you ever went to war with him! But then you stopped fighting... you retired into your house... so he never had to use them!”
Before Alessandro could ask another question, a loud gunshot echoed from the archway.
BANG!
Frank Russo’s body went limp, a single bullet hole opening in the center of his chest. He collapsed into the mud, lifeless.
Alessandro spun around, weapon raised.
May you like
Standing at the archway, holding a smoking revolver, was Lorenzo Valenti. His clothes were torn, his face covered in soot and blood, his eyes wild with unhinged madness.
“You talk too much, Frank,” Lorenzo sneered, shifting his aim directly toward Alessandro. “Now, Don Moretti... it’s time for you to join your ghost story.”
