Chapter 6 - The Lure
The grand double doors of the DeLuca mansion splintered under the force of a heavy breaching ram.
Glass shattered. Heavy boots stomped across the polished marble floor of the foyer. Rain-soaked men clad in black tactical gear poured into the grand hall, their assault rifles raised, sweeping the high balconies and shadowy archways.
Walking slowly through the ruined entrance was Don Silas Moretti.
Silas was in his late fifties, silver-haired, immaculate in a bespoke grey overcoat despite the storm outside. He carried an silver-topped walking cane in his left hand and a gold-plated revolver in his right. A smug, victorious grin stretched across his weathered face.
“Lorenzo!” Silas’s voice boomed through the high-ceilinged hall, echoing off the crystal chandeliers. “Come out, come out, little boy! Matteo told me you finally found your dead wife! I thought I’d come by to offer my personal congratulations!”
Silence answered him. The only sound was the dripping of rain from the mercenaries' coats onto the white marble floor.
Silas chuckled, taking a slow step toward the center of the room. “Did you really think you could keep her hidden? Matteo was my dog from the very beginning! He took your money, he took your secrets, and tonight, I’m taking your empire!”
From the top of the grand staircase, hidden behind the shadows of a velvet curtain, Lorenzo watched Silas.
Lorenzo held his radio close to his lips. “Antonio. Cut the main power grid. Now.”
CLICK.
The entire mansion plunged into pitch darkness.
Screams of confusion erupted from Moretti’s men as the bright chandeliers went black. Flashlights clicked on frantically, their thin beams cutting wildly through the gloom.
“Hold your positions!” Silas shouted, his smug tone evaporating into sharp irritation. “It’s just a power trip! Find the stairs!”
Before the mercenaries could organize their line, a crimson flare burst to life in the center of the hall, blinding everyone who was looking down.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
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The thunderous roar of Lorenzo’s shotgun shattered the night.
A mercenary standing near the front door was lifted off his feet by the sheer force of the blast, crashing backward into the shattered glass of the entrance. From the high balconies, Lorenzo’s six loyal guards opened fire with silenced automatic rifles, raining a lethal hail of lead down upon Moretti’s trapped forces.
