Chapter 5 - The Siege of the Moretti Estate
The news of Victoria Hale’s arrest sent shockwaves through the Boston underground.
By 2:00 PM, the Hale family’s financial assets were frozen by federal injunction. Arthur Hale was taken into custody at his Beacon Hill townhouse, while federal agents raided three private surgical centers linked to the DeLuca syndicate.
But Lorenzo DeLuca was not a man who went down quietly.
At 11:00 PM that same night, as a blizzard swept across Massachusetts, three heavy armored SUVs smashed through the outer security gates of the Moretti estate.
BOOM!
The sound of explosive charges detonating at the perimeter wall echoed through the grand hallways of the mansion, shattering crystal chandeliers and setting off blaring security alarms.
Inside the master suite, Emma jumped out of bed, pulling Lily into her arms as the lights flickered and died, replaced instantly by the amber glow of emergency back-up generators.
“Mr. Moretti!” Emma cried out into the hallway.
The double doors of the suite flew open, and Alessandro stepped inside.
He was no longer wearing his tailored suit. He wore a dark tactical vest over a black sweater, a heavy custom pistol holstered at his hip, his face tight with cold, lethal focus.
“Stay in the inner dressing room,” Alessandro ordered, grabbing Emma by the elbow and guiding her toward the reinforced steel safe room hidden behind the wardrobe. “It’s bomb-proof and air-sealed. Do not open the door for anyone except me or Marco.”
“Alessandro, no!” Emma gasped, her hand clutching his vest. “They have explosives! You can’t go down there!”
Alessandro looked down at her. In the amber emergency light, his gray eyes burned with a fierce, protective fire. He reached up, cupping the back of her head, pressing his forehead against hers.
“They came to take my home, Emma,” Alessandro whispered softly. “They came to threaten my family. I am going to end this tonight.”
He pressed a quick, fierce kiss against her temple, pushed her gently into the safe room, and sealed the heavy steel door with a double electronic deadbolt.
Downstairs, the mansion had become a battlefield.
Lorenzo DeLuca had sent fourteen heavily armed mercenaries—former military contractors hired to execute a total purge of the Moretti headquarters. They had bypassed the outer drive using snowmobiles, blowing the main entrance doors off their hinges with thermal charges.
Smoke filled the grand foyer as gunfire echoed off the high marble walls.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Moretti security men engaged the invaders from the upper balconies, returning fire with suppressed rifles.
Alessandro descended the service stairs like a phantom. Moving with fluid, terrifying precision, he came up behind two mercenaries advancing down the east corridor. He raised his pistol, firing two precise shots that dropped both men instantly before they could turn.
“Alessandro!” Marco’s voice cracked over the tactical earpiece. “DeLuca’s main force is pushing toward the central server vault! They’re trying to destroy the evidence files before the feds recover them!”
“Intercept them at the lower gallery,” Alessandro commanded, sliding behind a marble pillar as automatic rounds chewed through the plaster above his head. “I have the rear flank.”
For thirty minutes, the Moretti estate became a killing ground.
Alessandro fought with the ruthless efficiency of a Don who had survived three syndicate wars. Every hallway he had walked for twenty years became a trap for the invaders; every shadow became cover.
By midnight, the gunfire died down to sporadic shots.
The eleven mercenaries lay dead or disabled across the ground floor.
In the center of the ruined foyer, surrounded by fallen marble statues and shattered glass, stood Lorenzo DeLuca himself. The fifty-year-old mob boss was bleeding from a shrapnel wound on his cheek, holding an automatic shotgun, his face twisted in desperate rage.
“MORETTI!” DeLuca roared into the smoke-filled air. “COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU BASTARD!”
Alessandro walked out from behind the grand double staircase.
He carried no rifle. His pistol was held loosely at his side. His clothes were covered in plaster dust, but his posture was absolute, unbroken, and terrifying.
DeLuca raised the shotgun, but before his finger could touch the trigger, a single gunshot echoed from the upper balcony.
BANG!
Marco, standing near the balustrade above, fired a single precise round through DeLuca’s right shoulder. The heavy shotgun clattered onto the blood-stained marble floor.
DeLuca collapsed onto his knees, howling in pain, clutching his shattered shoulder.
Alessandro walked up to him, stopping three feet away. He looked down at his life-long rival as if he were nothing more than a stain on the rug.
“You brought war to my home, Lorenzo,” Alessandro said quietly.
“You... you destroyed my business...” DeLuca choked out, blood dripping through his fingers. “You turned the Hale family... you gave the feds our accounts...”
“You bugged a four-year-old child’s doll,” Alessandro corrected, his voice dropping into a register of quiet, absolute doom. “You made a mistake every man in this city knows better than to make.”
He raised his weapon.
May you like
“You made it personal.”
BANG!
