Chapter 8 - The Breach
The retaliation was swift and brutal.
At 3:00 AM, while the mansion was plunged into a heavy, humid silence, the security alarms suddenly wailed—a high-pitched, deafening shriek that shattered the night.
Samantha sat up in bed, her heart exploding with terror as the emergency red lights flickered in her room. Through the adjoining door, she could hear Luca crying.
"Sam! Sam!"
She scrambled out of bed, running into Luca’s room and pulling the terrified boy into her arms. "I’m here, Luca! I’ve got you!"
The sound of rapid, automatic gunfire erupted from the lower gardens, accompanied by the concussive blasts of flashbang grenades. The Morettis had bypassed the water security, launching a full-scale assault on the estate.
The bedroom door flew open, and Russo stepped inside, his automatic rifle raised, a bloody cut on his forehead. "Samantha! We need to move! They’ve breached the first floor!"
"Where is Anthony?" Samantha cried, shielding Luca with her body.
"He’s leading the defense at the grand staircase!" Russo shouted, ushering them toward the private service elevator. "We need to get you to the panic room in the basement!"
As they reached the elevator, a sudden explosion rocked the east wing, sending plaster and glass raining down the corridor. Two Moretti enforcers stepped out of the smoke, their weapons aimed directly at them.
Russo reacted instantly, opening fire and taking down one of the attackers, but a round from the second enforcer caught him in the shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor.
"Russo!" Samantha screamed.
The second enforcer lunged toward her, his hand reaching out to grab Luca.
Samantha’s maid instincts—honed by years of handling heavy, solid objects—took over. She grabbed a heavy, solid bronze sculpture of a falcon from the corridor pedestal and swung it with all her strength.
The bronze statue connected with the enforcer’s temple with a sickening, heavy thud. The man collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Samantha grabbed Russo’s fallen pistol, her hands shaking violently, but she pointed it down the smoke-filled corridor. "Russo, get up! We need to move!"
Suddenly, a massive, familiar figure emerged from the smoke.
Anthony ran toward them, his suit jacket discarded, his black shirt soaked in sweat and blood—none of it his own. He took one look at the unconscious enforcer, the bronze statue in Samantha’s hand, and the weapon she was holding.
"My god, Samantha," Anthony gasped, pulling her and Luca into his arms.
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"We need to get him to the panic room," Samantha sobbed, her strength finally failing her as she let the gun drop.
"The Morettis are dead or captured," Anthony whispered, his voice thick with a raw, overwhelming emotion as he kissed her forehead, her hair, his hands checking his son for any injuries. "It’s over, Samantha. I’ve got you. The war is won."
