Chapter 6 - The Viper In The Hall
The heavy mahogany door swung open an inch at a time.
Dante didn't raise the weapon, but his thumb quietly thumbed the hammer back until it clicked into place with a tiny, imperceptible tick.
Through the narrow opening slipped Henry Cole, holding an antique brass candlestick.
The old butler's face was white with tension, his nightshirt tucked unevenly into his woolen trousers.
"Sir," Henry whispered, stepping quickly into the room and shutting the door behind him. "You must come to the security monitors immediately."
Dante rose to his feet, keeping the pistol hidden in the fold of his jacket.
"What is it, Henry?"
"Marcus Vale disabled the exterior perimeter cameras on the south wall six minutes ago," Henry reported, his voice trembling with urgency.
"Three black SUVs just passed through the river gate without using security transponders. They are entering the service courtyard right now."
Elena gasped, rushing toward the door, but Dante caught her arm in an iron grip.
"Where is Sophie?" Dante demanded.
"She's sleeping in the blue room!" Elena cried, panic stripping her voice raw.
"Henry, take Elena through the wine cellar tunnel to the safe room beneath the carriage house," Dante commanded, his voice cold, steady, and lethal.
"No, Dante! I won't leave Sophie!" Elena struggled against his hold.
"Sophie is a Moretti," Dante said, looking Elena dead in the eyes with absolute conviction.
"Nobody touches a Moretti inside this house while I am still drawing breath. Go with Henry. Now!"
Elena looked at him for one desperate second, saw the unbreakable oath burning in his eyes, and allowed Henry to pull her toward the hidden bookshelf passage.
The moment the secret panel clicked shut, Dante chambered a round into his Kimber .45.
He pulled a tactical radio from his desk drawer and clicked the channel switch.
"All stations, this is Boss," Dante spoke in a calm, lethal whisper. "Code Black. Lock the perimeter. Execute clean sweep on the courtyard intruders. Do not fire on the second floor."
A burst of automatic gunfire shattered the silence of the ground floor.
Glass cascaded onto the marble foyer below as the front windows were blown inward by breaching charges.
Dante sprinted up the back servant stairs three steps at a time, moving with the silent, predatory speed of a shadow.
He reached the second-floor gallery just as Marcus Vale stepped out of the blue room, carrying three-year-old Sophie wrapped in her yellow duck blanket.
The little girl was crying, her tiny hands reaching out for the toys left behind on the floor.
Marcus held a silver revolver pressed against his own thigh, his eyes wild with desperate, cornered greed.
Beside him stood Don Russo’s primary lieutenant, a scarred butcher named Vinnie Cruz, holding a short-barreled shotgun.
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"Put the child down, Marcus," Dante said, stepping out from the dark alcove at the end of the hall.
His pistol was raised, level and steady, pointed directly between Marcus’s eyes.
