Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF WESTCHESTER
Before Marco could pull the trigger, the thick glass window behind the desk shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
A high-powered rifle bullet slammed into Marco’s shoulder, knocking him backward onto the carpet with a roar of pain. His gun skittered across the floor.
"CLARA! GET DOWN!"
Rico’s voice boomed through the house. The library doors smashed open as Rico burst into the room, holding a heavy black pistol. He didn't come from the city—he had come home early to surprise Clara with news that he was formally cutting ties with his illegal operations.
Rico saw Marco on the floor, saw the silencer on his gun, and saw Clara huddled behind the desk, terrified but unhurt.
A look of pure, infernal rage filled Rico’s eyes. He stepped over to Marco, kicked the gun away, and picked the broad-shouldered traitor up by his collar with one hand, slamming him into the wall.
"You..." Rico growled, his voice trembling with a terrifying, demonic fury. "It was you who gave Elena’s car to Santino!"
Marco coughed up blood, grinning bitterly through the pain. "You're... too late, Rico. Santino's men... they're already inside the gates. They came for the kid... and the girl."
Outside the mansion, heavy automatic gunfire suddenly erupted, shattering the peaceful snowy afternoon. Alarm sirens began blaring across the estate grounds.
Rico dropped Marco’s unconscious body onto the floor like trash. He turned instantly to Clara, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.
"Are you hit? Did he hurt you?" Rico asked frantically, searching her face with wild, desperate eyes.
"I'm okay! I'm fine!" Clara gasped, clutching his arms. "Rico, Leo! He's in the nursery!"
"Listen to me," Rico commanded, his voice dead serious, holding her face in his hands. "Santino’s men are storming the house. They think they caught me off guard. Take Leo and go through the hidden passage behind the fireplace in my study. It leads to the underground garage. There is an armored SUV parked there. The keys are under the sun visor."
"What about you?!" Clara cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm not leaving you!"
Rico kissed her—hard, passionate, and full of raw emotion—pressing his lips against hers with a intensity that made the chaos around them disappear for a split second.
"I love you, Clara Vance," Rico whispered against her lips, his dark eyes shining with absolute devotion. "You saved my son's life, and you saved mine. Now let me protect yours. Go!"
Before she could answer, Rico drew a second weapon from his belt and ran out into the hallway, firing down the grand staircase as Santino’s hitmen poured into the foyer.
Clara didn't hesitate. She ran straight to the nursery, where three-year-old Leo was sitting on his bed, screaming in terror at the sound of gunfire.
"Clara! Clara!" Leo sobbed, reaching his little hands out to her.
"I've got you, baby! I've got you!" Clara yelled, wrapping him in a heavy wool blanket and pulling him tight against her chest. "We're playing the hiding game! Remember? The quiet game!"
She sprinted down the back service stairs, dodging through smoke and echoes of shouting, until she reached Rico’s study. She slammed her hand against the hidden release catch inside the stone fireplace. A heavy section of the bookcase swung open, revealing a dark, stone staircase leading downward.
Clara rushed down into the subterranean garage just as the steel doors above blew open with an explosive blast.
She scrambled into the massive black armored SUV, laid Leo gently on the back floorboards, covered him with her own body, and reached under the sun visor for the keys.
Her fingers found the remote. She hit the engine start button—the massive V8 engine roared to life.
Behind the vehicle, the heavy garage doors blew inward. Santino Rossi stepped through the smoke, holding an assault rifle, a wicked smile spreading across his scarred face as he aimed straight through the front windshield at Clara.
"End of the line, waitress!" Santino shouted over the roar of the fire.
Suddenly, a black town car smashed through the side garage wall at sixty miles an hour, broadsiding Santino and slamming him violently into the concrete pillar.
Rico Moretti stepped out of the driver's side of the crumpled town car, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, holding a heavy shotgun. He racked the slide, looking at Santino pinned against the pillar.
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"I told you," Rico said coldly, "to stay away from my family."
Rico pulled the trigger.
