Chapter 7 - The Siege of Long Island
At 2:15 AM, the estate’s main power grid was severed.
The chandeliers died. The hum of the climate control ceased. In the sudden pitch black, only the pale moonlight filtering through the high arched windows illuminated the grand foyer.
I sat in an armchair at the head of the dark staircase, a tactical shotgun across my lap and two extra magazines on the table beside me.
Downstairs, the heavy glass of the conservatory shattered.
They didn't come through the front doors. Marcus had sent professionals—mercenaries hired from outside our territory to avoid loyalty conflicts. Footsteps moved across the marble: light, tactical, disciplined.
Four men.
"Sweep the upstairs first," a muffled voice instructed through a comms unit. "Take out the nanny and the kids quietly. Leave the boss for Kane."
A cold smile touched my lips in the darkness.
*Quietly.*
I stood up, racked the shotgun, and fired down into the foyer.
The deafening roar of the 12-gauge shook the chandelier crystals above. The lead mercenary collapsed instantly as the blast tore through the entryway.
The remaining three scattered, returning suppressed automatic fire that chewed through the mahogany balustrades and shredded the oil paintings on the walls. Splinters rained down around me.
I dropped to the floor, rolling behind a marble pillar. I drew my Kimber .45, firing three controlled double-taps down the hallway where muzzle flashes sparked against the darkness.
A scream echoed. Another man fell, his rifle clattering across the tiles.
"Room cleared upstairs!" one of the gunmen shouted frantically into his radio from the ground floor. "Romano was waiting for us! Kane, where the hell are you?"
From the open front entryway, a figure stepped into the moonlight.
Marcus Kane.
He wasn't wearing his expensive suit anymore. He wore black tactical gear, and over it, unmistakable in the moonlight, a faded yellow windbreaker.
He looked up at the mezzanine where I was crouched.
"Come down, Dominic!" Marcus roared, his voice echoing through the ruined mansion. "It’s over! I have twenty men surrounding this property! Give me the girls, sign over the offshore access codes, and I’ll let you die quick!"
"You touched my wife, Marcus!" my voice boomed through the hall, dripping with pure venom. "You signed your death warrant fourteen months ago!"
"Isabelle was a meddling bitch!" Marcus yelled back, his composure finally shattering. "She couldn't keep her nose out of my ledgers! We built this empire together, Dominic! But you got the mansion, you got the fame, you got the family—and I was just the shadow cleaning up your blood! She had to go!"
Behind him, through the basement access door near the rear kitchen, a shadow moved.
Grace.
May you like
She had slipped out of the cellar vault to flank them.
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