Chapter 6 - Blood on the Iron Gates
The rain returned with a vengeance just past midnight, turning the gravel driveways of the estate into slick rivers of black mud.
I stood in the center of the subterranean armory, illuminated by the harsh white glare of overhead fluorescent tubes. Marcus was methodically handing out submachine guns and tactical gear to a dozen of my most trusted enforcers. Around us, security monitors flickered, casting eerie blue light across the concrete walls.
“They’re moving in from the north perimeter,” Marcus reported, his voice entirely devoid of panic as he racked the slide of his Glock. “Salvatore brought fifty men. He thinks he can catch us off guard while our attention is divided on the medical wing.”
“He’s a fool,” I said coldly, pulling on a heavy leather tactical vest and securing a pair of suppressed Berettas at my sides. “He thinks because my sons are healing, my hands have grown soft.”
“What about the second floor?” Marcus asked, hesitating for a fraction of a second. “Dr. Vance and the boys—and Miss Bailey?”
“The panic rooms in the west wing are sealed,” I ordered, my eyes flashing with dangerous authority. “And my detail is stationed outside their doors. Nobody gets near them. If anyone so much as steps foot on the second-floor landing, I want them dead before their boots hit the carpet.”
“Understood.”
A deafening roar echoed through the subterranean levels—the unmistakable concussive thud of an explosive charge detonating against the outer security gates.
“They’re breaching!” Marcus shouted.
“Move out!” I roared, drawing my weapons.
We flooded up the stairwells into the grand foyer of the mansion. The massive oak front doors splintered inward with a thunderous crash as a squad of masked mercenaries rushed into the marble hallway, automatic weapons raised.
The firefight was instantaneous, brutal, and deafening. Glass shattered, plaster rained down from the ceiling like winter snow, and the air filled with the sharp, acrid stench of cordite and burning gunpowder.
I moved with cold, mechanical precision, returning fire with lethal accuracy. Men dropped on both sides of the grand staircase, blood staining the pristine white marble. My enforcers held the line, pushing the invading force back toward the shattered entrance hall.
Through the chaos, I spotted Salvatore himself standing near the doorway, holding a tactical shotgun, barking orders to his remaining men.
“Andrew!” Salvatore yelled over the deafening rattle of gunfire, a manic grin stretching across his face. “Your empire is burning down around you! You should have stayed in the hospital!”
I didn't answer him. I advanced through the crossfire, ducking behind a marble pillar, reloading my weapon with practiced speed. As one of Salvatore’s enforcers lunged around the corner with a rifle raised, I pivoted, dropped him with a single clean shot to the chest, and vaulted over the antique sofa directly toward Salvatore.
Before he could raise his shotgun, I tackled him hard to the marble floor, sending his weapon skittering across the room. I pinned him beneath my knee, pressing the cold steel barrel of my Beretta directly against the center of his forehead.
The gunfire in the foyer instantly died down. The remaining members of Salvatore’s crew dropped their weapons, raising their hands as my men swarmed around them, submachine guns trained on their chests.
Salvatore spat a mouthful of blood onto the marble floor, looking up at me with terrified, wide eyes.
“You... you’re insane, Grant,” he choked out. “You can’t control everything. Sooner or later... someone gets through.”
“Not today,” I whispered, my voice chillingly calm.
Before I could pull the trigger or issue an order, a sharp, frantic crackled through my tactical radio.
“Boss! Boss, come in!”
It was Marcus’s voice, distorted by static and laced with sheer panic.
“Talk to me, Marcus,” I snapped, keeping my eyes locked on Salvatore.
“It’s the west wing! An infiltration team bypassed the perimeter through the drainage tunnels. They’re on the second floor!”
My blood ran instantly cold. Every drop of adrenaline in my veins turned to ice.
“The boys?” I choked out, my voice cracking for the first time in ten years.
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“They breached the medical wing door, Boss. Angela... Angela is inside with them.”
I shoved Salvatore off me with such force he crashed into a marble pillar and crumpled unconscious to the floor. I didn't look back. I bolted up the grand staircase three steps at a time, sprinting down the corridor toward the west wing like a man possessed by absolute fury.
