Chapter 9 - The Final Showdown
Dawn was breaking over the Hudson River, painting the sky in violent streaks of bruised purple and burning orange.
The peace was shattered instantly by the deep, rhythmic thrum of heavy rotor blades beating against the morning air.
“Boss!” Marcus yelled, bursting back into the study from the security monitoring station. “We’ve got two unauthorized transport helicopters descending directly onto the front lawn! Armed operatives—at least twenty men wearing Moretti tactical insignia are rappelling onto the grounds!”
The final assault had begun.
The Moretti family knew their insider, Arthur Vance, had failed. They knew their cover was blown. Their only option left was a scorched-earth offensive to wipe out Matteo Varric, retrieve the listening logs, and burn the estate to the ground.
Matteo didn't flinch. He picked up his Sig Sauer, checked the magazine, and slid a spare clip into his tactical belt.
“Marcus, secure the perimeter defenses. Activate the underground safe-room lockdown for the east wing.”
“What about you?” Marcus asked.
“I’m going to the nursery,” Matteo said grimly. “That’s where they’re coming.”
Liana stepped forward, her face set in stone. “I’m coming with you.”
“Liana, no—it’s going to be a war zone up there.”
“My baby was stolen by the same people trying to kill your son,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not staying behind to hide.”
Matteo looked at her for a long, intense second. Then, a rare, hard smile touched his lips. He handed her a compact Beretta 9mm from his secondary holster, showing her the safety catch with quick, expert precision.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed.
Together, they raced up the marble staircase as the first window in the west wing shattered beneath a volley of assault rifle fire.
The battle for the Varric estate was absolute carnage.
In the hallways, Matteo’s loyal guards fought fiercely against the invading Moretti mercenaries, bullets chipping ancient stone pillars and shattering priceless artwork. Smoke filled the corridors, smelling of cordite and burning wool.
Matteo moved like a ghost, taking down two mercenaries who had breached the second-floor landing with cold, clinical precision.
Liana stayed close behind him, covering his flank, her heart pounding as she fired her weapon for the very first time in her life, driving back an operative trying to flank their position.
They reached the nursery door.
It was kicked open, splintered at the hinges.
Inside, standing over Nico’s crib with a tactical knife in hand, was a scarred Moretti enforcer.
“Drop it!” Matteo roared, raising his pistol.
The enforcer grinned wickedly, turning the blade toward the sleeping baby in the crib. “Say goodbye to the heir, Varric!”
Before Matteo could pull the trigger without risking a stray shot hitting his son, a gunshot echoed sharply inside the small room.
Bang.
The enforcer’s eyes widened in shock. A small red hole appeared dead center in his forehead.
He dropped his knife and collapsed heavily onto the floor, lifeless.
Liana lowered her smoking Beretta, her hands shaking uncontrollably as the gun slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the rug.
Matteo rushed past the fallen body, dropping to his knees beside the crib.
He reached down, lifting little Nico into his arms.
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The baby woke up, blinking sleepily against the harsh light, and let out a small, contented yawn, resting his tiny head against his father’s chest.
Safe.
