Chapter 7 - The Assault on the Glass Terrace
The French glass doors along the estate's rear terrace exploded inward in a shower of deadly crystal shards.
Three masked mercenaries dressed in black tactical gear breached the threshold, their suppressed assault rifles raised and sweeping the dark living room with laser sights.
Dominic didn't give them time to acquire a target.
From behind the heavy oak dining table, Dominic leaned out and fired two devastating blasts from the twelve-gauge shotgun.
The heavy buckshot tore through the chest armor of the first two mercenaries, slamming them backward through the shattered glass doors and onto the rainy terrace in a spray of blood.
The third shooter dove behind a marble pillar, spraying automatic fire across the room. Plaster exploded from the walls, tearing through antique oil paintings and shattering heirloom vases into dust.
Dominic rolled across the hardwood floor with fluid, military precision, coming up behind a leather sofa. He dropped the empty shotgun, drew his custom tactical pistol from his holster, and waited for the pause in the mercenary’s fire.
The moment the assault rifle’s bolt clicked back on an empty magazine, Dominic stepped around the sofa.
Two rapid, suppressed shots cracked through the gloom.
The mercenary collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.
Outside on the lawn, the estate was bathed in blinding halogen flares as Marcus Reed and the loyal Hale security team engaged the remaining assault squad in the pine woods. Gunfire echoed across the Hudson River like rolling thunder.
Dominic reloaded his sidearm with mechanical speed, advancing toward the terrace doors through the driving rain.
Standing on the limestone steps of the lower terrace, flanked by two heavily armed personal bodyguards, was Vanessa Russo.
She was wearing a dark, waterproof trench coat, her designer hair soaked and plastered against her face by the storm. In her right hand, she held an encrypted detonator linked to secondary breach charges set along the estate’s structural foundation.
“Dominic!” Vanessa screamed over the roar of the wind, her voice shrill with manic, desperate fury. “Step out of the house!”
Dominic walked out onto the rain-swept terrace, his pistol held steady at his side, entirely ignoring the two assault rifles trained directly on his chest.
“You’ve lost your mind, Vanessa,” Dominic said, his voice flat, calm, and terrifyingly cold. “Did you really think you could slaughter three children and walk away with my company?”
Vanessa laughed, a high-pitched, broken sound that echoed off the granite cliffs.
“Your company? I built that company beside you for seven years, Dominic!” she shrieked, pointing the detonator at his chest. “I gave you my youth! I managed your boards! I covered your tracks! And then that pathetic little charity worker walks back into your life with three brats, and you look at her like she’s a saint!”
“She is a saint compared to the venomous monster standing in front of me,” Dominic replied, taking a slow, deliberate step down the stone stairs.
“Don’t take another step!” Vanessa screamed, her thumb hovering over the red firing button. “I know about the biological registry, Dominic! I know about the Rh-null blood! If those triplets die, the board ratifies the Russo trust succession protocol on Monday morning! I win everything!”
“You forgot one small detail, Vanessa,” Dominic whispered, his gray eyes gleaming in the dark.
“What detail?” she hissed.
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“You were so busy watching the house,” Dominic said, tilting his head slightly toward the treeline behind her, “that you didn't check the river docks.”
From the shadows of the dense pine trees, three red laser dots suddenly converged on the center of Vanessa’s forehead.
