Chapter 5 - BREACH AT THE WEST GATE
The sound of shattering glass and heavy steel alarms tore through the stillness of the estate like a siren.
Dante didn't flinch. He drew his pistol, flicked off the safety with a sharp click, and looked at Marco.
"Get Clare and Lily down to the subterranean vault," Dante ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Lock the secondary bulkhead from the inside. If I don't open it by midnight, flood the intake valves."
"Boss, I'm going with you—" Marco started.
"Do as I say, Marco! Secure my family!" Dante's roar shook the framed portraits on the study wall.
Without another word, Dante turned and sprinted toward the main hallway, his tactical boots hammering against the polished oak floors. Outside, the rain was turning into a violent autumn gale, lightning splitting the sky over the sprawling lawns of the estate.
At the west gate, two armored black SUVs had plowed straight through the reinforced hydraulic security barrier. Twisted steel, shattered glass, and yellow warning lights blinked frantically in the downpour.
Armed men in tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, rifles raised, exchanging heavy automatic fire with Moretti's perimeter guards. The sound of gunfire echoed across the manicured gardens, tearing leaves from ancient oak trees and shattering the decorative marble fountains.
Standing in the center of the chaos, wearing a heavy trench coat and a carbon-fiber wrist brace on his right arm, was Paulie Genovese.
Paulie wasn't hiding. He held a high-powered assault rifle in his left hand, a cruel, manic grin stretched across his scarred face as he watched one of Moretti's guard towers go dark under a hail of suppressor fire.
"Dante!" Paulie screamed over the roar of the wind and gunfire. "Come out and look at what your empire is really made of!"
Dante stepped out onto the grand stone portico of the mansion, completely exposed, his dark coat billowing around him in the wind. He didn't raise his gun immediately. He simply stood there, an immovable mountain of cold fury.
"You traded with the shadows, Paulie," Dante called out, his voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard. "You sold my house to people who don't even know how to look a man in the eye."
Paulie laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "The Moretti name is dead, Dante! The syndicate voted you out six months ago! You thought you were untouchable in this stone castle, but your walls were made of glass!"
"My walls had rats," Dante corrected softly.
He raised his pistol with blinding speed.
Crack. Crack.
Two shots cut through the storm. Paulie's rifle flew from his hands as the heavy caliber rounds shattered his shoulder and dropped him hard onto the wet gravel.
The surrounding gunmen froze, lowering their weapons as Dante's elite security team swarmed the courtyard from the flanking hedge rows, weapons locked on every invader.
Paulie groaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder as the rain washed crimson into the gravel around him. Dante walked slowly down the stone steps, his boots squelching in the mud, stopping right above his former friend.
"Who else?" Dante asked, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against Paulie's temple. "Who's backing you, Paulie? The Chicago Outfit? The Russians?"
Paulie spat a mouthful of blood onto Dante's polished shoe, smiling through the pain. "You think... you think I'm the mastermind, Dante? Look closer at the wire transfers. Look at who cleared the code for the cameras."
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Dante's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"It wasn't me," Paulie wheezed, his laughter turning into a wet cough. "I was just the maintenance man. The person who really wanted you dead... is already sitting at your dinner table."
