Chapter 5 - The Siege of Whitaker Manor
The heavy steel shutters crashed shut across the ground-floor windows just as the first wave of Moretti’s men reached the front terrace.
High-caliber gunfire erupted outside, shattering the silence of the night. The heavy glass of the front French doors exploded inward, but the steel barricades behind them held, taking the impact of dozens of automatic rounds with deafening metallic thuds.
I stood at the top of the grand marble staircase in the main foyer, holding an M4 carbine rifle, flanked by Marcus and six of my best tactical guards.
Down below, the heavy wooden double doors of the main entrance burst open as Moretti’s men used a thermal charge to blow the hinges. Smoke poured into the foyer, smelling of cordite and burnt wood.
"Hold the stairs!" I yelled over the alarm siren. "Suppressing fire!"
We opened fire simultaneously. The foyer erupted into a chaotic storm of muzzle flashes, flying plaster, and screaming men. Moretti had sent at least fifteen heavily armed mercenaries, expecting to catch a distracted businessman asleep in his bed.
What they found instead was an organized defensive force waiting for them.
Two mercenaries dropped near the shattered front entrance. The rest scrambled for cover behind the heavy marble pillars and overturned leather sofas of the lower living area.
"Whitaker!" a loud, gravelly voice yelled out from behind a pillar below. "Give it up, Evan! You're indicted! You're finished! Hand over the kids and Moretti lets you walk out of here alive!"
I leaned over the marble balustrade, firing a three-round burst that chipped the plaster off the pillar right above his head.
"Tell Moretti if he wants my children, he's going to have to come down here and collect them himself!" I shouted back, my voice echoing through the massive hall.
"Flank left!" Marcus called out, spotting three men moving toward the west wing toward the service stairwell.
"I've got them!" I dropped my empty magazine, slapped a fresh one into the rifle, and moved down the upper hallway, cutting off their route.
I rounded the corner of the west corridor just as the lead mercenary reached the top of the service stairs. I fired twice—center mass. He crumpled backward down the steps, knocking the two men behind him off balance.
For twenty minutes, Whitaker Manor became a war zone.
Plaster rained from the ceilings, antique chandeliers shattered onto the floor, and the rich wood panelling was chewed to pieces by gunfire. But my men held the high ground, utilizing every defensive bottleneck the house offered.
By 1:30 AM, the gunfire below began to sputter and die out.
Moretti’s tactical assault had failed. Eight of his men were dead or incapacitated on the foyer floor; the remaining six had retreated back into the darkness of the front lawn, realizing they were outgunned and caught in a fatal choke point.
"Perimeter status!" I yelled, wiping sweat and gunpowder residue from my forehead.
"Retreating, boss!" Marcus shouted from the main stairs, breathing heavily, a minor graze on his left shoulder. "Their vehicles are pulling out down the driveway!"
"Don't pursue," I ordered. "Secure the ground floor and clear every room. I want a perimeter check done every five minutes."
"Understood!"
I lowered my rifle, my chest rising and falling heavily. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins, but my immediate thought wasn't victory—it was the safe room on the second floor.
I sprinted down the corridor toward my master bedroom, stepping over debris and broken glass.
Inside the bedroom, the large wooden bookshelf had been slid aside, revealing a heavy steel digital safe door built into the wall. I stepped up to the keypad, punched in my personal six-digit code, and tapped the biometric scanner.
With a heavy hydraulic hiss, the steel door unlocked and swung outward.
Inside the small, reinforced room, lit by soft yellow emergency lights, Grace was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. Sophie and Caleb were fast asleep in her arms, wrapped in thick wool blankets. Grace had headphones over their ears to block out the sounds of the gunfire, her hands gently patting Caleb's back in a steady rhythm.
She looked up as the door opened, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear.
When she saw me standing in the doorway—covered in dust and sweat, but alive—her entire body sagged with relief.
"It's over," I said softly, stepping inside and dropping to my knees beside her. "They're gone."
Grace took off the headphones from Sophie's ears. She looked at me, her eyes lingering on my face, checking for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" she whispered.
"Just dirty," I said, reaching out to gently touch my daughter's face. Sophie stirred slightly, turning her head into my palm, her warm breath hitting my skin. She had slept through the entire siege.
Grace looked at the open steel door, then back at me. "Was that... was that the man who hired Vanessa?"
"That was his message," I said, my voice hardening again. "Moretti thought he could take everything I owned in one night. He thought I was weak because I loved my kids."
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I looked at Grace, then at my sleeping children.
"Tomorrow morning, I stop playing defense," I said softly. "I'm going to Manhattan."
