Chapter 5 - The Battle for the Sky
CRACK-THICK!
The heavy breacher tool slammed against the ballistic glass of the balcony door. The reinforced glass spiderwebbed into a thousand glittering cracks, but held.
"VANCE!" Roman bellowed into his collar radio, pulling a sleek, dark semi-automatic pistol from his leather shoulder holster. "WE HAVE BREACHERS ON THE WEST BALCONY! FULL LOCKDOWN NOW!"
Outside on the balcony, three heavily armed men wearing dark tactical gear and silver mask crests—the signature mark of Dominic Moretti’s elite hit squad—were desperately swinging heavy hammers against the cracked glass, trying to force an entry into the suite.
Evan was huddled beneath the marble kitchen counter, his hands clamped tightly over his ears, sobbing hysterically as the terrifying sounds of glass shattering and boots pounding echoed through the room.
"Evan! Look at me!" Meera yelled over the chaos, pulling his hands away from his ears and pressing his face against her neck. "Look at Mama! Don't look at the window!"
"The glass is singing!" Evan screamed through his tears. "It’s gonna break in three hits! One... two..."
Roman didn't hesitate. Recognizing the boy’s uncanny accuracy, he raised his weapon, aimed directly through the spiderwebbed center of the glass, and fired three rapid shots straight through the impact point!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The reinforced glass exploded outward in a shower of glittering safety crystals. The lead hitman let out a muffled yell as two rounds caught him in the chest, sending him stumbling backward off the balcony edge, plunging sixty-five floors into the darkness below!
The remaining two hitmen scrambled through the broken frame, raising their submachine guns—
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Roman dove behind a heavy leather sofa as a hail of bullets ripped through the living room, shattering priceless art pieces and tearing dark velvet cushions to shreds.
"Cover the kid!" Roman shouted toward the hallway.
Suddenly, the heavy interior oak doors of the penthouse burst open. Vance and six heavy enforcers charged into the living room like a battering ram, weapons blaring!
"CLEAR THE ROOM!" Vance roared, unleashing a wave of suppressed fire that pinned the two attackers against the balcony rail.
The gunfire was deafening—a chaotic, terrifying roar of steel and gunpowder that shook the entire top floor of the hotel.
Within forty seconds, the crossfire ceased.
The two hitmen lay motionless on the wet tiles of the balcony, their weapons scattered across the rug.
Silence returned to the penthouse, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic beep of the building’s internal alarm system and the smell of spent cordite hanging thick in the air.
Roman stood up from behind the sofa, his black shirt torn, a thin line of blood trickling from a light cut on his forehead where a glass shard had grazed him. He didn't check his own injury. He sprinted straight toward the marble kitchen island.
"Meera! Evan!" Roman gasped out, dropping to his knees beside them.
Meera was trembling violently, her arms wrapped like iron bands around her son. Evan was completely unhurt, his face buried deep in his mother’s shoulder, his small body shaking with heavy, silent sobs.
"They're gone," Roman whispered, his hands hovering gently over Evan’s back, his slate-blue eyes burning with a fierce, protective fury. "They're gone, kid. You're safe. I've got you."
Evan slowly turned his head, looking out from his mother’s embrace. He looked at the blood trickling down Roman’s forehead, then reached out with his small, trembling hand, pressing his thumb gently against the cut.
"You're bleeding, Mr. Boss," Evan whimpered softly.
Roman let out a low, breathless laugh, wrapping his massive arm around both the mother and child, pulling them close against his chest.
"It’s just a scratch, Evan," Roman whispered, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion. "And as long as I'm breathing... nobody touches this family ever again."
Roman looked up at Vance, who was standing over the balcony rail, giving a tactical sign to the ground teams below.
"Vance," Roman ordered, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute murder.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Call the captains. Tell them Dominic Moretti tried to touch the kid."
Vance’s face set in stone. "And what are the orders, Don Roman?"
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Roman stood up, wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his slate-gray eyes flashing with liquid fire.
"Tell them," Roman growled, "that by sunrise... the Moretti family doesn't exist anymore."
