Chapter 4 - The Siege of Long Island
Gunfire shattered the silence of the estate before the guard could finish his sentence. Automatic rounds tore through the high windows down the hallway, the sound echoing like thunder through the massive mansion.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. In a fraction of a second, he pulled a custom silver heavy-caliber pistol from his shoulder holster, his posture shifting instantly from a grieving father to a ruthless commander.
"Get under the bed!" Lorenzo commanded, his voice carrying an authority that demanded absolute obedience.
"No! I'm taking Alexander!" I yelled, rushing to the bassinet and gathering the infant into my arms. I wrapped him in a thick wool blanket, holding his tiny body tightly against my chest.
Lorenzo grabbed my arm, his grip like steel, and pulled me toward the back of the walk-in closet. He slammed his hand against a hidden panel in the mahogany wall, and a heavy iron door slid open, revealing a reinforced safe room equipped with surveillance monitors and weapons.
"Stay inside. Do not open this door for anyone except me," Lorenzo ordered, shoving a smaller 9mm handgun into my shaking hands. "Do you know how to use this?"
"No!" I cried out.
"Point and pull the trigger," he said sharply, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look him in the eyes. "If anyone other than me opens that door, you shoot them until the clip is empty. Do you understand me, Hunter?"
"Lorenzo, don't go out there!" I begged, surprise washing over me as I realized I was terrified for his safety.
"They came for my son," Lorenzo whispered, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, demonic fury. "They are going to die in my hallway."
He slammed the heavy steel door shut, and the lock engaged with a deafening click.
I was left in the dim lighting of the safe room. The sound of gunshots outside was muffled through the thick walls, but the surveillance monitors on the wall gave me a clear view of the nightmare unfolding across the mansion.
Dozens of masked men in tactical gear were pushing through the main foyer. Lorenzo's men were returning fire, but the attackers had taken them by surprise. Smoke filled the grand staircase where I had dusted the balustrades just forty-eight hours ago.
Then I saw Lorenzo on the screen.
He moved like a phantom. He stepped into the main corridor, completely unflinching under heavy fire. Every shot from his weapon was precise, lethal, and devastating. He dropped three attackers in seconds, his face cold and impassive, a shadow of death moving through his own home.
Suddenly, two men on the monitor bypassed Lorenzo's line of sight, slipping through a side corridor that led directly toward my bedroom suite.
My heart plunged into my stomach. They knew where the nursery was.
"No, no, no..." I whispered, clutching Alexander tighter. The baby began to whimper, feeling my panic. I rocked him frantically, trying to keep him quiet. "Shh, baby, shh... mommy's here."
Heavy footsteps echoed outside the safe room. Someone was inside my bedroom.
"Check the closet!" a coarse voice barked through the steel door. "Moretti said the brat is in here!"
I backed into the furthest corner of the safe room, holding the gun with both hands, my fingers trembling so violently I could barely feel the trigger. I raised the weapon, pointing it directly at the heavy iron door.
A loud explosion rocked the wall as the attackers attempted to blow the lock with plastic explosives. The iron door groaned, smoke seeping through the cracks, but the deadbolts held.
"Bring the blowtorch!" the voice outside yelled. "We're cutting through!"
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face against my son's soft hair. "Please, God," I prayed silently. "Please save my baby."
Suddenly, the noise outside changed.
The sound of the blowtorch was replaced by a wet, sickening thud, followed by a scream of agony. Gunfire erupted right outside the door, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the floor.
Silence fell over the corridor.
I stood frozen in the corner, my chest heaving, the gun aimed at the iron door.
A moment later, the electronic keypad on the door chimed. The heavy steel door slid open slowly.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway. His suit jacket was gone. His white shirt was soaked in blood—none of it his own. His hair was messy, and a deep scratch ran along his cheekbone, dripping blood onto his collar. In his hand, he held a dripping knife.
He looked like the devil himself, freshly returned from hell.
His eyes swept the room until they landed on me and the baby. The terrifying rage in his expression melted instantly, replaced by sheer relief. He dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor, and stepped into the safe room.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his breath ragged.
"No," I sobbed, dropping the handgun onto the bench and sinking to the floor, exhausted from the terror. "We're... we're okay."
Lorenzo dropped to his knees in front of us. Without hesitation, he wrapped his long, blood-stained arms around both of us, pulling me and Alexander against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
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"You're safe," Lorenzo rasped, his voice shaking. "I've got you. Nobody is ever touching you again."
I sat there in the dim light of the bunker, surrounded by the smell of iron and gunpowder, held tightly by the most dangerous man in the city. And for the first time since my baby was born, I felt completely, undeniably safe.
