Chapter 3 - The Siege of the Estate
The low, heavy rumble of automatic gunfire shattered the quiet Hudson Valley night.
The glass in the high windows of the medical suite rattled violently. Red emergency lights instantly flashed on throughout the estate, casting long, bloody shadows across the room.
Roman didn't hesitate. In less than two seconds, the husband who had just been begging for understanding vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless, calculating Don of the Bellandi Syndicate.
He pulled a sleek black 9mm handgun from a hidden holster beneath his shoulder strap, racked the slide with a crisp clack, and stepped in front of my bed.
"Dante," Roman barked, his voice cold as steel. "Status."
"They cut the main power lines and jammed the cellular frequencies," Dante reported quickly, taking position near the doorway with his weapon raised. "Rourke’s men breached the perimeter wall near the stables. They know the main security detail was scaled down for the Thanksgiving holiday. They're pushing toward the main house!"
"They aren't here for the house," I said, sitting up straight in bed, holding my stomach as another mild contraction rippled through me. "They're here for Isabel."
Roman turned his head sharply to look at me.
"Patrick knows the trust agreement is dead," I explained, my mind working with terrifying clarity despite the pain. "He knows I drew that line. If I die tonight, or if Isabel is taken, Roman loses his leverage over the Commission. Patrick can claim the Bellandi territory by force before sunrise."
Roman’s jaw set into concrete. He walked over to the heavy oak wardrobe near the wall, pressed a hidden biometric scanner behind a mirror, and pulled out a tactical vest and a submachine gun.
He buckled the vest over his white shirt, turned to Dante, and issued his orders with terrifying precision.
"Take six men and secure the lower floor," Roman commanded. "Move my mother to the armored bunker beneath the wine cellar. If anyone tries to breach that door, kill them."
"What about you, boss?" Dante asked.
"I stay here," Roman said, stepping beside my bed and racking his submachine gun. "Nobody touches my wife or my daughter."
Dante nodded once and vanished into the dark hallway, closing the heavy mahogany doors behind him.
The sound of gunfire grew closer, echoing up the marble staircase—shouting, glass shattering, and the distinct heavy thud of tactical boots on hardwood.
I reached out from the bed, grabbing the hem of Roman’s tactical vest.
He looked down at me, his gray eyes dark and fierce.
"If we survive tonight, Roman..." I whispered, my voice trembling with raw emotion. "This ends. No more lies. No more using our baby as a pawn in your war."
Roman knelt beside the bed, his large hand gently cupping my face, his thumb tracing the tear track on my cheek.
"I swear on my life, Cassandra," Roman whispered, his voice thick with a profound, terrifying devotion. "If I survive tonight, I will burn the Syndicate to the ground before I ever let another shadow touch you or Isabel."
The heavy doors of the medical suite suddenly shuddered as a heavy body slammed against them from the outside!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Roman!" Patrick Rourke's voice roared from the hallway, amplified by the echo of the high ceilings. "Open the door! Give me the signed trust agreement and the child, and I'll let you walk off this estate alive! Refuse... and we tear this room apart!"
Roman stood up slowly.
The gentle husband vanished completely.
A cold, terrifying smile touched his lips as he aimed his weapon directly at the center of the wooden doors.
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"You picked the wrong night to invade my home, Patrick," Roman called out softly.
Then, he opened fire through the door.
