Chapter 2 - THE SIEGE OF VANCINI ESTATE
The heavy iron doors of the estate’s underground safe room hissed shut with a deep, pneumatic thud, locking four inches of solid reinforced steel into place.
Inside, the room was brightly lit, stocked with medical supplies, communications equipment, and row upon row of tactical firearms.
Dante set Sophia down on a leather sofa in the corner. Clara immediately sat beside her, wrapping a warm wool blanket around the little girl's shoulders and handing her a cup of warm water. Sophia’s small hands were still shaking, but she refused to let go of Clara’s skirt with her left hand.
Dante stood by the central monitoring console, his back to them, typing rapidly into a encrypted satellite terminal. On the bank of security monitors above him, live feeds showed dark, tactical-clad mercenaries swarming the upper halls of the estate.
"Julian brought thirty men," Dante said calmly, though his knuckles were white as he gripped the desk edge. "They’ve cut the landlines and jammed local cell towers. This isn't a hit job. This is a private army meant to wipe out my entire line."
"Who are they?" Clara asked, stroking Sophia’s hair gently. "If Julian is incapacitated, who is leading them?"
"The Moretti crew," Dante replied grimly, turning around to face her. "My former allies in Chicago. Julian sold them my shipping routes in exchange for tactical backing. They think if they kill me tonight, Julian takes over and honors the contract."
He looked down at Clara, his dark eyes burning with an intense, complicated light.
"Clara," Dante said, his voice lowering. "You were just supposed to be a waitress at a diner. I brought you here because my daughter smiled at a chocolate heart you drew on a pancake. You shouldn't be in the middle of a war."
Clara looked up at the fearsome mob boss, holding her head high despite the dried blood on her apron and the dirt on her hands.
"I spent three years working twelve-hour shifts at a greasy spoon to pay off my mother's medical bills, Mr. Vancini," Clara said steadily. "I know what it’s like when people take advantage of the weak. Sophia needed someone to notice she was terrified. I’m not leaving her now."
Dante stared at Clara for a long moment, a subtle shift occurring in his stern face—a flicker of deep, profound respect that went far beyond employer and employee.
"My name is Dante," he said softly. "And you aren't an employee anymore, Clara. You're the only person in three years who gave my daughter her life back."
Suddenly, a loud red light began to flash on the control console.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Dante snapped his attention back to the monitors. On Screen 4, three men in tactical gear were setting thermal charges against the heavy steel hinges of the safe room's outer blast door.
"They brought breaching thermite," Dante muttered, his jaw tightening. "We have six minutes before they burn through the primary locks."
"Is there an exit?" Clara asked, standing up quickly.
"A drainage tunnel beneath the wine cellar," Dante said, walking over to a heavy weapons locker and pulling out two compact submachine guns and a pair of tactical vests. "It leads out to the boathouse on the river, half a mile north. But the access hatch is on the other side of the cellar—outside this room."
He threw a Kevlar vest over his shoulders, pulled the slide back on his rifle, and turned to Clara.
"I’m going to open the door, clear the hallway, and draw them toward the main ballroom," Dante said coldly. "As soon as the hallway is clear, you take Sophia, run to the wine cellar, and open Hatch 4. The code is 0824—Maria’s birthday. Get on the speedboat and drive north until you reach the coast guard station."
"What about you?" Clara demanded, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Dante looked at Sophia, who was watching him with wide, tear-filled eyes. He walked over, knelt down, and kissed his daughter's forehead gently.
"I have a debt to settle for your mother, sweetie," Dante whispered to Sophia. "And then I'm coming right behind you."
"Promise me, Daddy," Sophia whispered, her small voice clear and strong. "Promise you won't leave me with Uncle Julian’s friends."
"I promise on my life, baby," Dante said.
He stood up, looked at Clara, and handed her a sleek 9mm pistol. "Do you know how to use this?"
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Clara took the heavy steel weapon, her hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "My father was a beat cop in South Philly. Point and pull."
"Good," Dante said, stepping toward the heavy door controls. "When the heavy steel slides open... don't look back."
