Chapter 5 - The Siege of Callahan Manor
The Moretti family had not just bought a leak; they had bought an entry.
Victor Moretti knew that if Vincent Callahan’s children made it to San Diego and recovered, Vincent would return to the streets with full force to crush every rival in Illinois. The only way to destroy Vincent Callahan was to strike at the heart while he was vulnerable.
"Get the kids to the panic room downstairs!" Vincent roared, drawing a heavy chrome pistol from his jacket. "Mason, take four men to the west wing! Nobody leaves this house alive!"
Gunfire erupted outside the front doors—the sharp, violent chatter of automatic rifles shattering the heavy oak entrance.
Grace didn't wait for orders. She tore her arm free from Vincent’s grip and ran straight up the grand staircase toward the twins' bedroom.
"Grace! Wait!" Vincent shouted, but she was already gone.
She burst into the children's room. Noah and Lily were sitting up in bed, petrified by the sound of sirens and gunshots echoing through the mansion.
"Miss Grace!" Lily sobbed, reaching out her small arms.
"It's okay, my angels," Grace said, her voice unnaturally calm as she wrapped both children in thick blankets. "It's just a game. A noisy game. We're going to play hide-and-seek."
"A hide-and-seek game?" Noah asked, his lower lip trembling as a heavy explosion rattled the glass in the window frames.
"Yes," Grace said, scooping Lily into her left arm and grabbing Noah’s hand. "And we are going to win."
She swept them out into the hallway just as two armed men in black tactical gear burst through the glass balcony doors at the end of the hall.
"There they are!" one of the gunmen shouted, raising a rifle.
Grace didn't hesitate. She dragged Noah into the linen closet beside the master bedroom, pulling Lily with her, and slammed the reinforced heavy oak door, throwing the deadbolt.
Outside, gunshots tore through the doorframe, wood splinters flying into the darkness of the closet. The kids screamed. Grace threw her body over both of them, burying their faces in her chest.
"Shh... shh... I’m here. I’ve got you," Grace whispered furiously into Noah’s hair. "Look at me, Noah. Look at me, Lily."
The children raised their terrified, tear-streaked faces in the dim light filtering through the door cracks.
"Remember the story about the little fox who hid under the big oak tree?" Grace asked, her voice steady, despite the heavy thud of footsteps kicking at the door outside.
"The... the fox who wasn't scared of the wolves?" Noah sobbed.
"That's right," Grace smiled, a fierce, defiant light shining in her eyes. "You are the little foxes. And nobody touches my foxes."
The lock on the closet door shattered with a deafening bang. The door swung open. A heavy-set gunman stood in the frame, raising his weapon toward Grace and the kids.
BANG.
A single shot rang out from behind the gunman. A spot of red blossomed on his chest, and he collapsed forward into the hallway floor.
Vincent stepped over the body, his gun smoking, his face covered in soot and blood. His eyes swept over Grace, who was still kneeling over his children, shielding them with her own spine.
Vincent dropped to one knee in front of them. He reached out with a trembling, blood-stained hand and touched Lily’s face, then Noah’s shoulder.
"They're safe, Vincent," Grace breathed, letting out a ragged gasp of air. "They're safe."
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Vincent looked at Grace—really looked at her. He saw the bruises on her arms from where she had shielded them, the terror in her eyes, and the absolute, unyielding willingness to die for two children who weren't even hers.
"Mason," Vincent called over his shoulder, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't felt in a decade. "Clear the grounds. Call the transport. We leave for San Diego tonight."
