Chapter 8 - The Siege of Blackwood Manor
“The Moretti name died the day you poisoned Arthur Vance and buried your daughter alive,” Dante said, his voice flat, hollow, and deadly.
Victoria’s lips curled into a cold, derisive sneer. “Arthur Vance was a self-righteous bureaucrat who wanted to dismantle everything this family built over four generations. He deserved what he drank. And Elena? Elena was broken from birth. She had no stomach for what power requires.”
“And what does power require, Mother?” Dante asked, stepping forward, unbothered by the four rifles pointed directly at his chest. “Killing your own grandchildren?”
“Power requires continuity,” Victoria said, taking a step closer. “I built you, Dante. I shaped you into the man who commands shipping lanes and corporate boards. You were supposed to carry our legacy into the next century. But you allowed yourself to be seduced by sentimentality. You brought that ghost into our house, carrying Vance’s blood!”
She gestured toward the tactical unit behind her.
“Secure the room,” Victoria ordered coldly. “Take the child the moment it is born. Put the Vance girl down. And sedate my son. He will come to his senses after a few months in seclusion.”
“No,” Dante whispered.
Before the lead mercenary could raise his rifle, Dante moved.
He didn't fire at the men; he fired three rounds directly into the emergency sprinkler system heads along the corridor ceiling.
A deafening alarm shrieked through the facility, and hundreds of gallons of freezing, high-pressure water erupted from the ceiling in a blinding downpour.
In the sudden chaos of water and strobe alarms, the mercenaries’ night-vision and tactical visibility were obliterated.
Dante closed the distance in two explosive strides.
He struck the first mercenary in the throat with the butt of his weapon, stripping the man’s rifle as he collapsed, and spun, firing a short, controlled burst into the second operative’s tactical vest, dropping him instantly to the soaked floor.
Marco burst out from a side linen closet, flanking the remaining two guards with devastating efficiency. A hail of suppressed gunfire echoed through the rain-soaked corridor. Within five seconds, all four mercenaries were disarmed and neutralized on the floor.
Victoria stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, her pristine cashmere coat soaked and ruined, her hair plastered to her skull by the torrential indoor rain.
The mask of aristocratic supremacy completely shattered. For the first time in Dante’s life, he saw raw, naked terror in his mother’s eyes.
Dante stepped through the falling water until he stood inches from her face. The barrel of his gun was still smoking.
“Your empire is gone, Victoria,” Dante said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet cutting through the blaring alarm sirens.
Suddenly, from behind the closed doors of Room 4B, a sound cut through the chaos.
A high, piercing, beautiful cry.
May you like
A newborn baby’s first breath.
***
