Chapter 5 - The Siege of Rossi Manor
The calm of the estate shattered in a heartbeat.
Within seconds of Enzo’s warning, the mansion’s security lighting shifted from soft amber to blinding tactical red. Sirens hummed a low, subterranean warning through the reinforced walls, and heavy steel shutters slid down over the arched glass windows with a series of loud, mechanical thuds.
“Get her into the panic room behind the library,” Dominic ordered, his voice shifting instantly from quiet intensity to cold, tactical command. He drew a heavy Beretta 92FS from a concealed shoulder holster, checking the magazine with practiced, lethal precision.
“I’m not running,” I said, trying to push myself up from the mattress despite the searing agony in my ribs. “If Costa’s men are coming here because of me, I’m not hiding while your people bleed.”
“Stay in bed, Elena,” Dominic commanded, turning back with a glare so fierce it could have melted steel. “This is my war. You’ve already taken seven bullets for my family; I’m not letting you take an eighth.”
Before I could argue, Isabella rushed into the bedroom, her face pale but completely composed, clutching a vintage silver-plated shotgun.
“They’re at the outer security gate,” Isabella said crisply, looking at her son. “Three black vans. They bypassed the perimeter sensors using a military-grade EMP generator.”
Dominic cursed under his breath. “Enzo, take Mateo and secure the east corridor. Isabella, stay with Elena in the sub-level vault.”
“No,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed before anyone could stop me. The sudden movement sent a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach, and black spots danced across my vision, but I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached and forced myself to stand upright, leaning heavily against the mahogany bedpost.
The gold ring caught the red emergency light, glowing like a ember.
“I’m not hiding,” I repeated, looking straight into Dominic’s dark eyes. “You wanted a Rossi wife? A Rossi doesn’t cower in a vault while her home is breached.”
Dominic stared at me for three agonizing seconds. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, a slow, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“Give her a vest, Enzo,” Dominic muttered.
Enzo blinked in disbelief. “Boss, she’s recovering from major surgery—”
“Did you hear me, Enzo?” Dominic’s voice cut through the room like a razor. “Give her a vest.”
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Two minutes later, wearing a lightweight Kevlar vest over my cotton nightshirt and gripping a suppressed Walther PPK that felt impossibly heavy in my trembling palm, I stood beside Dominic in the dimly lit hallway of the second floor.
Below us, the massive oak front doors splintered inward with a deafening crash as heavy gunfire echoed through the grand foyer.
