Chapter 5 - The Siege of Rinaldi Manor
The steel vault door beneath the wine cellar clicked shut with a heavy, magnetic seal. Once I knew the child was secure behind eight inches of reinforced alloy, Gabriel Rinaldi returned to the battlefield he had commanded for two decades.
I stripped off my suit jacket, revealing the tactical vest beneath, and grabbed a custom short-barreled automatic rifle from the concealed gun cabinet behind the bookshelf.
Mateo and four of my most loyal security operators were already positioned along the stone balcony overlooking the sweeping front lawn. Down on the driveway, three black SUVs were parked in an aggressive defensive formation. Over a dozen men in tactical gear and ski masks were advancing across the manicured grass, firing suppressing bursts toward the second-floor windows.
"They're not trying to negotiate, Gabriel!" Mateo shouted over the deafening crack of rifle fire as glass rained down from the upper terrace. "Moretti knows the feds are closing in on him! He wants your head before they take him down!"
"He chose the wrong lawn to die on," I replied coldly, checking the chamber of my weapon.
I took position behind the stone balustrade, leveling my sights on the lead vehicle. When the point man leaned out to throw a smoke grenade, I squeezed the trigger with rhythmic, military precision. The grenade dropped, detonating inside the vehicle's cabin and sending two attackers scrambling into the open, where my men eliminated them instantly.
The attackers were seasoned mercenaries, but they were fighting for a desperate boss whose checks would bounce by morning. My men were defending our sanctuary.
For ten minutes, the courtyard was a vortex of smoke, shattering stone, and the deafening roar of automatic weapons. I moved from pillar to pillar, directing crossfire that systematically pinned Moretti’s squad behind their burning vehicles.
Then, the heavy sound of a grenade launcher thudded against the estate's heavy oak front doors.
The blast blew the hinges inward, sending smoke and splintered wood flying across the foyer. Through the ruined threshold stepped a monstrous figure: Anton "The Bear" Moretti, Salvatore's younger brother, a six-foot-six enforcer infamous for executing rival capos with his bare hands.
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"Rinaldi!" Anton’s voice boomed through the burning smoke of the foyer, his shotgun raised. "Come down, you coward! Let’s finish what started thirty years ago!"
I slung my rifle, drew my twin sidearms, and walked down the grand marble staircase through the drifting haze.
