Chapter 7 - Midnight Shadows
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The terrifying sound of shattering glass and echoing gunfire rattled through the walls of the mansion like an earthquake.
I guided Rosa through the hidden steel hatch of the panic bunker, pulling the heavy titanium vault door shut behind us.
The hydraulic lock engaged with a deep, echoing hiss, sealing us into an underground room lined with surveillance monitors.
Rosa sank onto the small leather sofa, clutching the silver crucifix against her chest while murmuring frantic prayers.
I rushed over to the multi-screen security console to see what was happening in the grand foyer above.
Through the security camera feeds, the scene looked like a war zone inside a royal palace.
Ten masked mercenaries in black tactical body armor had breached the front double doors, sweeping the entrance with assault rifles.
The marble floor, where Rosa had been scrubbing shoes only hours earlier, was now littered with shattered crystal and spent bullet casings.
Suddenly, Luca appeared on the upper mezzanine balcony, moving with the terrifying grace of an apex predator.
He fired his tactical shotgun with devastating accuracy, dropping two intruders before they could even pivot their barrels upward.
Beside him, Dante and three loyal Moretti soldiers laid down heavy suppressive fire from behind the marble pillars.
The noise filtering through the bunker’s audio feed was deafening—screams, gunfire, and the roar of breaking stone.
"Look at my boy," Rosa whispered, her tear-filled eyes glued to the flickering screens.
"He took on the whole underworld to keep a roof over my head after his father was taken from us."
"He is fighting for you, Mrs. Rosa," I whispered, wrapping a warm wool blanket around her shivering shoulders.
On the main screen, I watched in horror as a flash-bang grenade rolled across the mezzanine floor near Luca’s boots.
The blinding white explosion threw Dante against the mahogany banister, leaving Luca exposed in the smoke.
Down below, the remaining mercenaries moved forward in a tight formation, clearing the stairs step by step.
And then, walking calmly through the ruined front entrance as if he were attending an evening opera, a figure stepped into view.
He wore an immaculate charcoal overcoat, unbuttoned to reveal a tailored three-piece suit underneath.
His silver hair was combed neatly back, and across his weathered left cheek ran a deep, jagged scar.
It was Salvatore Falcone in the flesh.
He stepped over the bodies of his own fallen men without even glancing down, his lips curved into a wicked, triumphant smirk.
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"Luca!" Falcone’s booming voice echoed through the microphone system, dripped in poisonous mock affection.
"Come down and greet your new master, little boy!"
