Chapter 8 - The Siege of Valenti Manor
The Valenti estate in Long Island was an ancient, sprawling mansion surrounded by high stone walls, security towers, and iron gates.
Don Carmine Valenti sat in his lavish study, pouring a glass of thirty-year-old scotch. He was an elderly man with snow-white hair, sharp gray eyes, and a heart made of hollow stone. Across from him sat Jimmy, his wrist now wrapped in a thick white cast.
“The plane went down over Indiana,” Jimmy said with a cold laugh. “The co-pilot sent a signal right before the altitude dropped. They’re all dead at the bottom of a field, Uncle.”
“Good,” Don Valenti grunted, taking a sip of his scotch. “Search the wreckage. Find the locket. Once I have those encryption codes, I’ll liquidate the accounts and retire to Sicily before the Commission realizes the cash is gone.”
Before Jimmy could reply, the heavy mahogany doors of the study blew inward in a shower of splintered wood and twisted hinges.
A flashbang grenade bounced across the Persian rug, exploding in a blinding white light and a deafening CRACK.
Jimmy screamed, grabbing his eyes. Don Valenti stumbled back, knocking his scotch onto the floor as smoke filled the room.
Through the haze, figures moved like phantoms.
Aleandro Moretti stepped through the ruined doorway, flanked by eight elite operators wearing full tactical gear and silencer-equipped carbines. Beside him, tethered to a tactical harness held by Marco, was Bruno—his teeth bared, his eyes fixed on Don Valenti.
Behind them stood Sophia, holding Emma tightly in her arms, protected by two heavily armed guards.
“You... you’re dead!” Jimmy gasped, crawling backward against the wall in absolute horror.
“You should have checked the Indiana radar feeds, Jimmy,” Aleandro said smoothly, stepping into the room with his gun lowered at his side. “We landed at a private airfield in Newark an hour ago.”
Don Valenti trembled, his face turning the color of ash as he looked at the armed men occupying his private sanctuary. “Moretti... you dare break into my home?! The Commission will have you executed for this!”
“The Commission is already on their way here, Carmine,” Aleandro revealed, taking out a satellite phone and tossing it onto the desk. “I called the heads of the other four families twenty minutes ago. They know about the forty million dollars you stole from their pension funds. They know about Julian Vance. And they know you tried to murder a three-year-old child to cover your tracks.”
Don Valenti’s jaw worked silently. He looked at the phone, then at Sophia, who stepped forward into the dim light of the study.
Sophia reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, heart-shaped silver locket on a delicate chain.
“Julian gave me this to protect our daughter,” Sophia said, her voice ringing clear and strong through the quiet room. “He knew you were a parasite, Carmine. He knew you were destroying everything good around you. Today, his truth comes out.”
“Give me that locket!” Don Valenti shrieked, suddenly snapping and reaching into his desk drawer for a hidden pistol.
Before his hand could reach the drawer, Aleandro clicked his fingers.
“BRUNO!”
The giant cane corso launched himself across the desk, landing squarely on top of Don Valenti. The heavy dog pinned the old man to his leather chair, his razor-sharp teeth resting less than an inch from Valenti’s throat. A low, terrifying growl vibrated through the dog’s chest, rattling the glassware on the desk.
Valenti froze, his hand paralyzed near the drawer, cold sweat pouring down his face as he stared into the yellow eyes of the beast.
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“One move, Carmine,” Aleandro warned softly, “and he finishes what your greed started three years ago.”
Outside the estate, heavy black sedans began pulling into the driveway in dozens—the heads of the Five Families had arrived to collect their debt.
