Chapter 19 - The Dragon's Strike
The kiss ended only when the heavy mahogany door of the study was kicked open with violent urgency.
Leo Rossi stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his tactical vest strapped across his broad chest, an automatic shotgun gripped in his hands.
Gabriel broke the kiss, spinning instantly to place his body between me and the door, his hand instinctively dropping to the pistol concealed beneath his suit jacket.
“What?” Gabriel snapped, his voice pure steel.
“Moretti’s gone rogue,” Leo growled, his face dark with fury. “He knows he’s finished. He pulled twenty hitters from an independent cartel out of South Bend. They hit the southern gate sixty seconds ago. They’re inside the perimeter, boss.”
Cold terror gripped my stomach like an icy fist.
“Eli,” I gasped, the world spinning around me. “Where is Eli?”
“The boy is in the carriage house with Mrs. Gable,” Leo said, his eyes darting to me. “Sam is with them, but they’ve got three trucks moving up the driveway.”
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. The lover vanished, replaced in a split second by the terrifying mafia sovereign whose family had ruled Chicago for a century.
“Lock the panic room in the main basement,” Gabriel ordered Leo. “Take Clara down. Now.”
“No!” I screamed, grabbing Gabriel’s lapel with both hands, refusing to let him push me away. “I am not going into a basement while my son is in that carriage house! Gabriel, no!”
Gabriel looked into my eyes. He saw the wild, ferocious terror of a mother who would tear the world apart with her bare hands before she let anyone touch her child.
He didn't argue. He didn't waste breath trying to protect me from the reality of the fight.
He pulled a small, sleek nine-millimeter pistol from his desk drawer, racked the slide with a sharp, lethal snap, and pressed it into my hands.
“Safety is off,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. “Point and pull. Stay on my hip. We get Eli, and we burn these bastards to the ground.”
“Yes,” I breathed, gripping the heavy steel with white knuckles.
We moved down the grand staircase like a strike team.
Gunfire was already echoing across the snowy lawns outside—sharp, rhythmic cracks from Sam’s rifle at the carriage house, answered by the heavy, stuttering roar of automatic weapons from the driveway.
Gabriel kicked open the side terrace doors, stepping out into the freezing night.
The driveway was lit with the burning wreckage of an armored SUV that had hit our perimeter spike strips. Tracers cut through the falling snow like red laser lines.
“Leo, suppress the left flank!” Gabriel roared, raising his weapon and firing three rapid, devastating shots into the darkness. A man advancing through the boxwood hedges crumpled into the snow.
We sprinted across the stone courtyard toward the carriage house.
Bullets chewed through the ancient granite walls around us, throwing showers of stone chips into the air. Gabriel stayed half a step ahead of me, his massive frame shielding my body from the firing line, his gun barking with ruthless, mechanical accuracy.
As we reached the carriage house porch, the front window shattered.
A mercenary in a black balaclava kicked the front door open, his assault rifle raised.
Gabriel fired twice. The man collapsed back onto the porch steps, dead before he hit the wood.
“ELI!” I screamed, diving through the open doorway.
Inside, the living room was dark.
Sam was crouched behind the overturned kitchen island, blood running down the side of his temple, his rifle trained on the staircase.
“They’re upstairs!” Sam coughed out. “Two of them went up the back fire escape!”
My soul left my body.
I didn't wait for Gabriel. I didn't wait for Leo. I ran up the stairs like a madwoman, the pistol clutched in my trembling hands, my boots slipping on the spent shell casings littering the steps.
At the top of the landing, the door to Eli’s bedroom was splintered open.
Inside, Mrs. Gable lay unconscious on the rug, struck across the temple.
May you like
And standing over Eli’s bed, his hand clamped over my seven-year-old son’s mouth, was Salvatore Moretti himself.
***