Chapter 9 - THE BATTLE OF THE MORETTI ESTATE
The night air outside the estate exploded with the deafening crack of assault rifles and the shattering of reinforced glass.
Viktor Petrov's men had breached the outer perimeter, utilizing the cover of darkness and heavy tactical gear to swarm the courtyards. Estate guards scrambled to defensive positions behind stone pillars and armored vehicles, returning fire with disciplined, lethal precision.
Inside the mansion, chaos reigned.
"Clara, stay down!" Leo ordered, shoving her behind a heavy steel reinforcement column near the security console. He drew his pistol, racking the slide with a sharp metallic clack. "Do not move from this spot, no matter what you hear."
"What about Matteo?!" Clara cried out over the sound of gunfire outside.
"He's less than a mile away, and he just radioed that he's breaking through their blockade!" Leo yelled back, kicking open the armory locker. "Hold the line!"
Clara watched Leo sprint out into the corridor toward the grand foyer. But her mind was racing. Bianca's words echoed in her ears: Matteo will ride out to rescue you—straight into an ambush.
Matteo didn't know the attack was originating from inside the estate's communication network. If he drove straight into the front gates thinking it was a standard perimeter breach, he would walk directly into a crossfire waiting specifically for him.
She had to reach the emergency radio transmitter located in the communications tower on the roof.
Ignoring Leo's orders, Clara bolted out from behind the pillar and ran in the opposite direction, toward the servants' service stairwell that led up to the upper floors and the roof access hatch.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Footsteps echoed from the main hallway below—heavy combat boots stomping against the marble floors. Russian operatives had breached the interior.
Clara ducked into the shadows of the linen closet on the second floor, holding her breath as two masked men in tactical gear jogged past the doorway, their assault rifles raised, muttering in harsh Russian.
Once they passed, Clara slipped out of the closet and scrambled up the final flight of narrow metal stairs leading to the roof access hatch.
She pushed the heavy iron door open.
The freezing night wind whipped her hair across her face, carrying the sharp scent of gunpowder and burning rubber from the courtyard below. Tracers of red and green gunfire streaked across the dark sky.
Clara rushed across the gravel roof toward the communications shed, where the main radio console blinked with emergency lights. She threw the heavy wooden door open, rushed to the microphone, and flicked the master broadcast switch to Matteo's private vehicle frequency.
"Matteo! Matteo, do you copy?!" she screamed into the mic, her voice cracking with terror.
For three agonizing seconds, there was only static.
Then, a deep, steady voice cut through the interference, calm and terrifyingly collected.
“Clara? What are you doing on the roof? Get down from there immediately, the estate is compromised.”
"Listen to me!" Clara cried tears of panic streaming down her face. "It's a setup! Grant sold my location to the Bratva, and they've been waiting for you! Don't come through the North Gate—they have an anti-vehicle ambush waiting in the ravine! If you drive through there, you'll be killed!"
A heavy pause hung over the radio frequency. Back in the courtyard below, an explosion rocked the western wall, sending a plume of orange fire into the night sky.
“And you?” Matteo's voice came back, dropping into a dangerously quiet register. “Where are you, Clara?”
"I'm safe, I'm in the radio shed—"
The door behind her suddenly splintered inward with a deafening crash.
Clara spun around with a gasp. Standing in the doorway was a massive Russian operative in full tactical gear, a suppressor-fitted pistol raised directly toward her chest.
On the open radio link, Matteo heard every sound—the splintering wood, the gasp, the heavy boots.
“Clara?!” Matteo roared over the comms unit, the sound of a roaring car engine revving to maximum RPM bleeding through the microphone. “Clara, talk to me!”
The Russian mercenary smiled grimly behind his mask, stepping toward her. "Target secured. Eliminating the distraction—"
Before the mercenary could squeeze the trigger, a dark, ferocious blur leaped through the open doorway from the gravel roof behind him.
Bruno.
The 150-pound cane corso hit the mercenary like a freight train, jaws snapping shut around the man's tactical vest, sending them both crashing hard against the metal wall of the shed. The pistol flew from the operative's hand, clattering across the floor.
The mercenary screamed, struggling to draw a combat knife, but Bruno's immense weight and crushing grip pinned him instantly, neutralizing the threat with terrifying, savage efficiency.
Clara scrambled backward, her hands shaking as she grabbed the radio microphone once more.
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"Matteo!" she sobbed into the comms. "Bruno's here! I'm okay! But you have to stay away—"
“I am already inside the gates, Clara,” Matteo's voice thundered through the speaker, accompanied by the screech of tires and the brutal sound of a heavy armored sedan crashing through the estate's reinforced wooden courtyard doors. “No one touches what is mine.”
