Chapter 5 - The Siege of Saint Catherine’s
“No,” Genevieve gasped, clutching Elena tightly to her chest as she watched Alessandro pull a customized matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from a holster hidden beneath his coat. “Alessandro, don't leave us here!”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said, stepping to the side of the bed and pressing a fierce, urgent kiss to her forehead, then leaning down to brush his lips against the baby’s head. “Mateo and four of my best men are stationed outside this door. They won't get past them. And they certainly won't get past me.”
“Alessandro—!”
The heavy double doors of the VIP suite burst open before she could finish.
Gunfire cracked down the hallway—short, sharp, suppressed bursts that echoed like thunder through the polished corridors. Shouts rang out, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the tile floor.
Alessandro didn't hesitate. He pivoted, raised his weapon, and fired three precise shots through the open doorway into the corridor. A muffled cry sounded outside, followed by the clatter of a dropped firearm.
“Stay down!” Alessandro ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the heavy oak doors shut behind him.
Genevieve sat frozen on the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She clutched little Elena so tightly the baby let out a small, protesting squeak. She could hear the muffled chaos outside—shouts, the sound of breaking glass, the terrifying rattle of automatic gunfire echoing up the stairwells.
Every second felt like a lifetime. She prayed with every fiber of her being, whispering desperate bargains into the silence, asking God, fate, or the devil himself to spare the man who had finally learned how to love them.
Inside the hallway, the battle was short, brutal, and merciless.
Vincenzo’s men had expected a quiet assassination in a sleepy maternity ward; they hadn't expected to run headfirst into a war zone commanded by a man fighting for everything he had ever held dear.
Alessandro moved through the smoke and gunfire with chilling efficiency. He cleared the nurse’s station in three fluid strides, putting down two of Vincenzo’s operatives before they could re-aim their rifles.
“Boss! Clear on the left!” Mateo shouted from the elevator bank, his Sig smoking as he dropped a third man.
“Where is Vincenzo?” Alessandro demanded, his voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.
“Stairwell B. He’s trying to run to the roof chopper,” Mateo panted, reloading his magazine.
“Cover the suite,” Alessandro ordered, breaking into a sprint toward Stairwell B.
He didn't wait for Mateo. He threw open the heavy metal door of the stairwell and took the concrete steps three at a time, his boots pounding against the steps like a drumbeat of judgment.
At the top landing, the heavy steel door leading to the roof was cracked open. Cold wind whipped through the gap, carrying the heavy chop of helicopter blades idling on the helipad above.
Alessandro pushed the door open with his foot, his pistol raised.
Vincenzo Bell stood near the edge of the roof, his designer overcoat flapping in the gale-force wind, a silver briefcase clutched in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other. He turned around, panic distorting his smooth, aristocratic features.
“Alessandro,” Vincenzo forced a strained, nervous smile, raising his weapon. “Don't be a fool. We can share the empire. The board will back—”
Alessandro didn't let him finish.
He didn't fire a warning shot, and he didn't negotiate. With a single, fluid motion, Alessandro raised his pistol and fired.
The bullet struck Vincenzo squarely in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending his weapon clattering across the wet concrete. Vincenzo screamed, collapsing against the metal railing, clutching his bleeding arm.
Alessandro walked toward him slowly, his footsteps echoing over the roar of the helicopter blades. The rain lashed against his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, but his eyes were fixed on Vincenzo with a cold, absolute deadliness.
“You touched my wife,” Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly quiet as he stopped two feet away from the trembling counselor. “You threatened my child.”
“Alessandro... please... forty years of loyalty...” Vincenzo choked out, blood spilling between his fingers.
“Loyalty is earned, Vincenzo,” Alessandro said, raising his pistol and pressing the cold barrel directly against the center of Vincenzo’s forehead. “You spent yours.”
May you like
The shot was drowned out by the thunder, but on the roof of Saint Catherine’s Medical Center, justice was served. Alessandro lowered the weapon, turned his back on the body without a second glance, and walked back toward the stairwell.
The war was over.
