Chapter 5 - Unraveling the Network
Lorenzo moved with absolute tactical precision.
He lifted Isabella into his arms, keeping Mia secure in the crook of her elbow. He carried her down the back staircase of the guesthouse, followed closely by Sophia and Emma.
Outside, the rain fell in heavy sheets, but Lorenzo paid it no mind. He brought them through the private garden hedge, bypassing the main driveways, and brought them straight into the reinforced steel panic room hidden beneath the main mansion’s library.
He placed Isabella onto a leather sofa, draped a warm wool blanket over her shoulders, and turned to two of his most loyal personal bodyguards—men who had served his father before him.
“Marco. Luca,” Lorenzo commanded. “You stay inside this vault. If anyone other than me tries to open this steel door, you blow their heads off through the viewport. Do you understand?”
“With our lives, Don DeLuca,” Marco answered, racking his shotgun.
Lorenzo turned to Isabella. He leaned down, pressing his lips firmly against her forehead, then kissed the tiny head of his daughter.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “I am going to finish this tonight. When I come back, we go home.”
“Lorenzo, be careful,” Isabella pleaded, grabbing his coat. “Moretti has dozens of men.”
“Moretti came into my house while my family was breathing,” Lorenzo replied, his eyes turning to black fire. “He isn't leaving New York.”
Lorenzo stepped out of the panic room, allowing the three-inch-thick steel door to seal shut with a heavy, pneumatic hiss.
He walked up to his grand study. The estate was in chaos. Shadows passed across the stained-glass windows, and the faint sound of shouting echoed from the front gates.
Lorenzo unlocked a concealed wall panel behind his oak desk. Inside hung an array of military-grade weaponry—tactical vests, assault rifles, silenced handguns, and extra ammunition drums. He strapped a heavy Kevlar vest over his ruined suit jacket, pulled two high-caliber handguns from their holsters, and checked the action on an automatic shotgun.
His house manager, an older, grizzled soldier named Antonio, rushed into the room, holding a radio.
“Boss!” Antonio barked. “Four black SUVs just breached the inner perimeter! They’re Moretti’s men! Matteo left the electronic security grid offline before he was detained!”
“How many men did Moretti bring?” Lorenzo asked, racking his shotgun with a sharp clack.
“At least twenty,” Antonio reported grimly. “We only have eight loyal guards inside the main house right now. The rest are stationed at the docks downtown.”
May you like
Lorenzo looked at the antique portrait of his grandfather hanging above the fireplace. The DeLuca family had held New York for sixty years through blood, discipline, and absolute ruthless power.
“Eight men are enough,” Lorenzo said coldly. “We know every inch of this house. They don't. Tell the men to fall back to the grand hall. Let Moretti come inside.”
