Chapter 13 - The Snake in the Garden
"Marco," Carmine whispered, his face turning gray with absolute disbelief. "Marco has been with us for six years. I personally vetted his family in Naples!"
"His family in Naples," Aleandro said through grinding teeth, his hand slamming down onto the concrete table. "Bernardo didn't recruit him six years ago. Bernardo owned his family twenty years ago."
Without another word, Aleandro grabbed an automated shotgun from the weapons rack, racked a heavy 12-gauge slug into the chamber, and bolted out of the subterranean bunker into the private elevator.
"Aleandro, wait!" Mia screamed, sprinting behind him, bringing her 9mm pistol up.
David Vance remained at the console, his fingers furiously typing commands to override the estate's internal elevator locks. "I've locked down the third-floor corridors! Marco can't access the panic room doors without the master biometric key, but he has explosives!"
The private elevator shot up through the core of the estate, stopping at the third floor with a soft chime.
The moment the doors slid open, a flash of blue light illuminated the hallway, followed by the deafening CONCUSSION of a tactical breaching charge.
BOOM!
Plaster and shattered drywall rained down from the ceiling.
Aleandro stepped out of the elevator into the smoke-filled corridor, raising the shotgun. "Marco!"
Through the settling dust, Marco turned, his tactical vest scorched, holding a detonator in one hand and a high-caliber pistol in the other. Behind him, the heavy steel door of the panic room was bowed inward, its frame cracked, smoke pouring through the gap.
From inside the panic room, the sound of Harper crying screamed through the ruined doorway.
"Don Moretti!" Marco shouted, his eyes wild, fanatical. "It was never about the money! The Valenti family gave my father his life! Don Bernardo commands, and we obey!"
Marco raised his pistol toward Aleandro’s chest.
Aleandro didn't speak. He didn't offer a deal. He didn't ask questions.
He pulled the trigger of the 12-gauge shotgun.
THUNCK!
The heavy lead slug struck Marco dead center in the chest, lifting his two-hundred-pound frame off his feet and throwing him backward six feet down the hallway, where he slammed against the ruined drywall and collapsed into an motionless heap.
Aleandro threw the empty shotgun aside, sprinted past Marco's body, and kicked open the scorched steel door of the panic room.
Inside, the secondary guard lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a head wound.
In the far corner, tucked beneath a wooden desk, fourteen-year-old Nico sat with his arms wrapped tightly around four-year-old Harper, holding a small tactical knife in his hand, his eyes wide with raw, fierce defiance.
"Dad!" Nico screamed, his voice cracking with adrenaline.
Harper buried her face into Nico’s shirt, sobbing hysterically. "Daddy! The loud noise! The loud noise!"
Aleandro dropped to his knees, scooping both children into his arms, pulling them tight against his chest, feeling their racing heartbeats against his ribs. "I've got you. I've got you both. It's over."
Mia burst into the room a second later, dropping her pistol, falling onto her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around Harper and Nico, kissing their foreheads, weeping tears of intense relief.
"They're okay... they're okay..." Mia repeated like a mantra, clutching her children.
Carmine stepped into the ruined doorway, stepping over Marco’s body, his expression dark as storm clouds. He knelt beside Marco's body, pulled open the dead man's tactical pouch, and pulled out a encrypted satellite comms device.
The screen on the comms device was still active, displaying an ongoing secure audio channel connecting to a location in downtown Manhattan.
Carmine held the device up to his ear.
From the speaker, a voice spoke—not the raspy, broken voice of old Bernardo Valenti, but the cold, smooth, refined accent of a high-ranking corporate attorney.
"Marco," the voice asked calmly from Manhattan. "Is the child secured? The helicopter is waiting at the Wall Street helipad."
Aleandro took the device from Carmine's hand, holding it to his mouth, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute malice that chilled the room.
"This is Aleandro Moretti," he said into the microphone. "Tell Bernardo that if he wants my daughter, he'll have to come down into the dark to get her. And tell him... I'm bringing the fire to Manhattan."
Silence hung on the line for three seconds.
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Then, the corporate attorney let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "Ah, Don Moretti. You always were so dramatic. Check your news feed. The fire is already here."
The comms line went dead.
