Chapter 9 - The Final Stand
The black armored transport screeched to a halt in the circular driveway of the Moretti estate just as the front gates were blown off their hinges by a concussive explosive charge.
Flames licked up from the outer guard booths. Glass shattered across the grand double doors as the mercenary squad swarmed the grounds, automatic rifle fire chewing up the limestone pillars of the veranda.
Inside the mansion, the emergency alarms blared in a deafening, rhythmic pulse.
In the underground panic room, the live monitor feeds flickered and went black one by one as cameras were shot out or blown up by the invading force.
“Mama...” I whimpered, burying my face in her shoulder as the concussive thump of heavy footsteps echoed directly above the vault ceiling.
“Shh, sweetheart, keep your eyes closed,” Mama whispered, wrapping her arms around me and shielding my body with her own.
Upstairs, the heavy steel door of the master study was blasted open with a shotgun shell.
Three heavily armed mercenaries stormed into the room, scanning the space for the hidden panic room entrance. Their leader—a scarred, cold-eyed enforcer named Marcus—raised his rifle, spotting the subtle seam of the hydraulic vault door set into the floorboards beneath the desk.
“Found it!” Marcus barked into his comms. “Get the thermal charges. Blow the hinges!”
Before the mercenary could kneel to place the charge, the study windows exploded inward in a shower of glass and splintered wood.
A dark shadow dropped through the broken window frame with lethal grace.
It was Alejandro Moretti.
He didn't waste time speaking. His SIG Sauer pistol barked twice in rapid succession—thip, thip—and two of the mercenaries collapsed instantly, lifeless before they hit the floor.
Marcus spun around, raising his assault rifle, but Alejandro was already moving like a striking viper. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, driving the butt of his pistol into Marcus’s jaw with bone-crushing force, sending the enforcer flying backward over the mahogany desk.
More footsteps thundered into the hallway. Reinforcements.
Alejandro stood over the fallen leader, reloading his weapon with lightning speed, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with absolute, unstoppable fury.
“You want the girl?” Alejandro roared, stepping forward into the hallway to meet the incoming wave of gunfire. “You have to go through me first!”
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The hallway erupted in a deafening cacophony of gunfire, muzzle flashes painting the walls in strobe-like flashes of white and orange. Alejandro fought like a cornered beast, each shot a calculated strike of retribution, holding the line with every ounce of his formidable strength until the last mercenary crumpled to the floor.
When the smoke finally cleared, silence rushed back into the mansion, broken only by the crackle of distant fire and the heavy, ragged breathing of the mafia boss standing victorious amid the wreckage.
