Chapter 13 - The Siege
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The quiet intimacy of the kitchen shattered instantly.
Dominic moved with terrifying speed, shoving the stool back and drawing a heavy, suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster. The exhausted man vanished, replaced by the lethal syndicate boss.
“Get upstairs,” Dominic ordered Marin, grabbing her arm and shoving her toward the service stairs. “Lock yourself in my mother’s panic room. Do not come out until I open the door.”
“Eli is in the guest suite!” Marin cried, panic seizing her throat.
“Carlo, get the boy. Bring him to the panic room,” Dominic commanded.
“On it,” Carlo grunted, sprinting down the main hallway.
Gunfire erupted outside, the sharp cracks echoing through the massive stone mansion. The Morrows hadn't sent a warning; they had sent an execution squad.
Marin ran up the service stairs, her bare feet slipping on the polished wood. She reached Isabella’s room just as Carlo arrived, carrying a terrified, crying Eli under his arm like a football.
“Mom!” Eli shrieked, reaching for her.
“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” Marin sobbed, pulling him into her arms.
Isabella was already awake, her eyes wide with fear, gripping the arms of her wheelchair.
Carlo pushed past them, moving to a heavy, ornate bookshelf against the far wall. He pulled a specific volume, and the entire bookshelf swung open, revealing a reinforced steel door. He quickly punched a code into the keypad.
The door hissed open, revealing a small, windowless room stocked with emergency supplies and communication gear.
“Get in,” Carlo ordered, ushering Marin, Eli, and Isabella inside.
“What about Dominic?” Marin asked, clutching Eli tightly to her chest.
“The boss will hold the line,” Carlo said grimly. “Lock the door behind me.”
He pulled the bookshelf shut, plunging them into darkness before the emergency red lights flickered on. The heavy steel door clicked locked from the outside, sealing them in a claustrophobic cage of terror.
Muffled explosions shook the foundation of the house. Marin sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her son and Isabella’s trembling hands, praying to a God she hadn't spoken to in years.
Outside the panic room, Dominic Virelli was fighting a war in his own home.
The Morrow hit squad was heavily armed, but they didn't know the layout of the mansion. Dominic moved through the secret corridors and shadows like a ghost, picking them off one by one.
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He was ruthless. He didn't hesitate. Every man who had dared step foot in the house where his mother and Marin slept was erased with cold, calculated precision.
But they were outnumbered.
