Chapter 5 - The Siege of the Safe Wing
The reinforced titanium doors of the fifty-first floor safe wing had been blown inward.
The acrid smell of C4 plastic explosive hung heavy in the carpeted hallway, mingling with the white dust of pulverized drywall. Smoke billowed from the charred doorframe, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the high-end wallpaper.
Vincent rounded the corner at a dead sprint, his pistol raised, his boots sliding slightly on the debris.
“Tommy!” he roared over the whine of the fire suppression alarms.
“Boss! Here!”
Tommy Bellucci staggered out of the primary nursery suite, bleeding from a jagged gash across his forehead, holding his side where blood soaked through his dark shirt. He leaned against the shattered doorframe, coughing violently from the smoke.
“What happened?” Vincent demanded, grabbing Tommy by the lapels and slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth. “Where is my son?!”
“Professionals,” Tommy wheezed, his eyes wide with shock. “Not Simon’s street thugs. Black-ops gear. Thermal breaching charges. They came through the exterior maintenance shaft on the roof while our attention was on the elevator bank. They didn't want a firefight... they wanted a snatch-and-grab.”
“Did they get him?” Vincent’s voice dropped into a register so terrifyingly cold that even Tommy flinched.
“No,” a voice called out from the shadows of the nursery.
Vincent shoved Tommy aside and vaulted into the room.
The nursery was wrecked. The custom crib was overturned, monitors were smashed into glowing heaps of plastic and wire, and the bulletproof window overlooking Central Park had been blown outward into the night air, letting the freezing rain whip wildly across the ruined hardwood floor.
In the center of the devastation stood Celia.
She was shivering violently in the oversized cashmere sweater Vincent had provided, her bare feet standing on shards of glass. In her arms, clutched so tightly to her chest that her knuckles were white, was Leo.
The boy was crying softly, his face buried in her neck, clinging to her like a lifeline.
Vincent dropped his gun. The heavy Colt hit the floor with a dull thud.
He crossed the room in two massive strides, dropping to his knees in front of them, his hands hovering over his son before gently wrapping around both Celia and the boy, pulling them against his chest in a desperate, suffocating embrace.
“You’re safe,” Vincent breathed, his voice breaking for the first time all night, trembling with a rawness that betrayed the absolute terror gripping his soul. “You’re both safe.”
“They came through the ceiling,” Celia whispered, her teeth chattering, her eyes wide with lingering shock. She was staring at the blown-out window where the wind howled into the room. “I heard the noise from the master suite. I ran down the stairs before the smoke alarms even reached the hallway. Two men in black tactical gear were holding a damp cloth over Leo’s face. I... I grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table and hit the first one across the helmet as hard as I could.”
Vincent pulled back slightly, his dark eyes scanning her face in disbelief. “You fought them?”
“He was crying, Vincent!” Celia snapped, a surge of fierce adrenaline overriding her fear. “Nobody touches a kid in my presence twice in one night! The second guy pulled a knife, but Tommy rounded the corner and put a round through his shoulder before he could do anything. They dropped Leo and blew the window out to escape on a grappling line to the roof!”
Vincent looked at Tommy, who had limped into the nursery behind them.
“Rooftop extraction,” Vincent said, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “They had a chopper waiting on the adjacent skyscraper helipad.”
“It wasn't Simon,” Tommy said grimly, wiping blood from his forehead. “Simon’s an old-world boss; he uses street soldiers and enforcers. This was corporate wet-work. Highly trained. Which means...”
“Which means the board of directors isn't just backing Simon,” Vincent finished, his voice turning into ice. “They’re financing an active coup against my bloodline.”
He stood up, lifting Leo easily with one arm while keeping his other hand firmly planted on Celia’s shoulder, guiding her away from the broken glass.
“We’re leaving,” Vincent said.
“Leaving?” Celia looked around the ruined safe wing. “Leaving to where? This is your fortress!”
“A fortress is only as strong as the men guarding its gates,” Vincent said, his eyes gleaming with a dark, terrifying resolve. “And my gates were just breached. If the board wants a war for control of the syndicate, I’m going to give them one on my terms. But my family stays off the battlefield.”
Twenty minutes later, the subterranean garage beneath Central Park South was a blur of roaring engines and flashing emergency lights.
Two matte-black armored Cadillac Escalades idled near the private elevator exit, their engines purring with heavy V8 power. A detail of eight heavily armed loyal guards—men Vincent had personally vetted over a decade of war—stood in a tight defensive perimeter.
Celia sat in the leather-scented interior of the lead Escalade, holding Leo in the back seat. The boy had finally cried himself to sleep against her shoulder, exhausted by the trauma of the past twenty-four hours.
Vincent slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the heavy armored door shut. He didn't turn on the radio. He just stared through the rain-streaked windshield into the dark tunnel leading out onto the Manhattan streets.
“Where are we going?” Celia asked quietly, her voice sounding small in the vast, armored cabin.
“A safe house,” Vincent said, shifting the transmission into drive. “An old brownstone in Brooklyn that doesn't exist on any corporate registry, tax map, or police database. It belonged to my father. It’s where I was raised.”
He looked in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
“And you’re coming with us, Celia.”
Celia didn't argue. She looked down at Leo’s peaceful, sleeping face, then back up at the man who held the entire underworld in the palm of his hand yet looked at her as if she were the only real thing left in his universe.
May you like
“Okay,” she whispered.
The Escalades accelerated out of the underground garage, roaring into the rainy New York night, leaving the burning fortress behind them as the war for the Romano empire truly began.
