Chapter 4 - The Breach
I sprinted down the grand marble staircase, pulling my pistol from my belt holster.
The front entrance gates had been rammed by a heavy delivery van. Four men in dark tactical gear stepped out into the courtyard, opening fire on my front door guards with silenced automatic rifles.
It was a coordinated hit—not Marcus Miller, but the remnant faction of the Moretti crime family, the rivals who had bombed my wife’s car two months ago. They had finally realized that Leo was alive and thriving, and they were attempting to finish what they started.
"Lockdown Protocol Alpha!" I shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire. "Dominic, hold the foyer! Clear the upper floor!"
"Mr. Rossi! Behind you!" a guard screamed.
One of the attackers breached the side terrace glass, stepping into the dining room with a submachine gun raised. I rolled behind a marble pillar, came up on one knee, and fired three precise shots through his tactical vest. He collapsed onto the floor.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Hannah. Leo.
I turned and bolted up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. The nursery door was locked, but I could hear Hannah’s frantic breathing inside.
"Hannah! Open the door! It’s Lorenzo!" I yelled, slamming my palm against the wood.
The electronic lock clicked, and the door swung open. Hannah stood there holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in her hands, her knuckles white, her eyes blazing with terrifying protective fury. Behind her, Leo was strapped securely into a tactical chest carrier pressed tightly against her stomach.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, grabbing her shoulders, checking her for blood.
"I’m fine! Leo is fine!" she gasped, her voice steady despite the gunfire shaking the floorboards below us. "What is happening?!"
"Moretti’s men," I said, pulling her out of the nursery and ushering her toward the hidden panic room concealed behind the library bookshelf. "They know he’s alive. They came to wipe out my bloodline."
Suddenly, the heavy glass skylight above the secondary hallway shattered inward. Rain, glass, and a masked assailant descended on a rappelling cable, landing heavily on the hardwood floor five feet from where Hannah stood.
The man raised his rifle, aiming straight at Hannah’s chest—straight at my son.
"No!" Hannah shrieked.
Without a second thought, she didn't turn and run. She lunged forward, swinging the iron fireplace poker with all her strength, smashing the heavy metal edge directly into the attacker’s helmeted face before he could pull the trigger.
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The man stumbled back, disoriented. I stepped in front of her, raised my pistol, and ended the threat instantly.
I grabbed Hannah by the waist, pulled her close against my chest, and pushed her into the secret library room, locking the six-inch steel door behind us as the alarm sirens wailed through the estate.
