Chapter 5 - Betrayal at the Iron Gates
The storm broke on a frozen night in late March.
A blinding blizzard blanketed Providence, cutting off power lines and choking the mountain roads in heavy snow. Inside the mansion, the emergency generator hummed softly, casting long, eerie shadows across the dark corridors.
Salvatore was in the library, practicing stepping with a heavy cane, when the heavy front doors were suddenly blown open with explosive force.
Gunfire shattered the silence of the night.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Shouts, screams, and the sharp crack of heavy caliber handguns filled the grand foyer.
Salvatore’s heart dropped. He pulled a heavy Colt .45 from his desk drawer and racked the slide with expert precision. He scrambled into his wheelchair—he could walk a few unsteady steps with a cane now, but not fast enough for a firefight.
Marco burst into the library, his arm bleeding profusely. “Boss! It’s a raid! Gianni sold us out! He gave Aldo Bianchi the security codes and the path through the east gate!”
“Gianni...” Salvatore spat, his eyes blazing with pure hatred.
“Bianci brought twenty men!” Marco yelled over the deafening roar of automatic fire outside. “They’re clearing the ground floor! We have to get you to the panic room!”
“Where is Nadia? Where is Milo?” Salvatore demanded, grabbing Marco by the collar.
“They’re trapped in the west wing laundry room! Bianchi’s men are clearing that section right now!”
Salvatore didn't hesitate. He tossed Marco his spare magazine. “Get the remaining guards to hold the main staircase. I’m going to the west wing.”
“Sal, you can’t fight them from that chair!” Marco pleaded.
Salvatore didn't answer. He threw his cane onto his lap, grabbed the rims of his wheelchair, and pushed forward with terrifying speed into the darkened hallway.
In the west wing, Nadia had locked herself and Milo inside a heavy linen closet. She held her son tight against her chest, her hand clamped firmly over his mouth, though the boy was eerily still, his hazel eyes wide in the dark.
Outside the closet door, heavy boots crunched on shattered glass.
“Search every room!” a harsh, gravelly voice ordered. It was Aldo Bianchi. “Find the girl and the kid! Gianni wants the kid dead so the Volkov file stays buried forever! And bring me Salvatore’s head!”
The closet door was suddenly kicked with massive force. The lock groaned.
Nadia wept silently, squeezing Milo close. “I love you, Milo... I love you so much...”
BOOM!
The door was kicked again, splintering wood flying inward. A mercenary with a tactical vest and a silenced submachine gun kicked the door wide open, pointing his weapon straight at Nadia’s head.
“Found ’em,” the mercenary sneered into his radio.
Before he could pull the trigger, a shadowy figure hurled itself around the hallway corner.
BANG! BANG!
Two thunderous gunshots echoed through the narrow hallway. The mercenary’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed backward into the corridor, blood pooling on the carpet.
Nadia gasped.
Salvatore sat in his wheelchair at the end of the hall, smoke wafting from the barrel of his Colt .45.
“Get behind me,” Salvatore ordered, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen.
Nadia grabbed Milo and scrambled behind Salvatore’s chair just as two more mercenaries rounded the corner, weapons raised.
Salvatore fired with terrifying precision. BANG! BANG! BANG! Both men dropped before they could even squeeze their triggers. The Wolf of Providence was back, and his lethal instincts hadn't dimmed by an ounce.
Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into the back of Salvatore’s wheelchair, flipping it sideways.
Salvatore crashed onto the hard stone floor, his gun skittering across the smooth tiles, coming to a rest ten feet away out of reach.
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Aldo Bianchi stepped out of the shadows, a heavy revolver in his hand, a cruel, triumphant smile plastered across his scar-lined face.
“Look at you, Salvatore,” Bianchi mocked, stepping on Salvatore’s paralyzed left leg. “The great Wolf, crawling on the floor like a wounded rat. You should have stayed dead in that parking garage.”
