Chapter 13 - The Siege of Blackwood Manor
The second explosion hit the eastern gatehouse with the concussive force of an anti-tank shell.
Flames billowed into the midnight sky, turning the cold drizzle into a shimmering curtain of red and gold.
Inside the tactical command center on the ground floor, Henry Romano stood before a wall of security monitors displaying thermal feeds of the perimeter walls.
Sixteen black-clad operatives bearing Castiglione insignia had scaled the western stone barrier using grappling hooks and tactical ladders.
They were moving through the sculpture gardens in tight, overlapping combat formations, firing suppressed assault rifles at the security cameras.
“They brought a mortar team,” Marco reported, slamming a fresh magazine into his carbine.
“They’re trying to blow the reinforced iron doors of the main foyer.”
Henry’s face remained as calm as a winter lake.
He leaned on his mahogany cane, his steel-gray eyes tracking the red blips on the tactical map.
“Let them break the doors,” Henry said softly.
“The kill zone in the grand foyer is designed to handle twenty men at once.”
“Where is Jake?”
“He’s taking the second-floor sniper overlook above the western courtyard,” Marco replied.
Upstairs in the vaulted gallery, Jake lay prone behind a carved stone balustrade overlooking the grand entrance hall.
Below him, the heavy iron double doors groaned under the sustained impact of a hydraulic battering ram.
CRASH.
The massive iron bolts sheared out of the stone jambs with a deafening screech of metal.
The doors flew inward.
Six masked operatives rushed into the grand foyer, their automatic rifles sweeping the marble floor for targets.
Jake exhaled slowly, adjusting the crosshairs of his suppressed carbine.
Phut. Phut. Phut.
Three rounds dropped the lead enforcers before they could take three steps past the threshold.
The remaining three scrambled behind marble pillars, returning blind, panicked fire that chipped the ancient stone and shattered the crystal chandelier pendants above.
“You’re walking into a graveyard, bastards,” Jake muttered into his headset, squeezing the trigger twice more.
From the side service corridors, Marco and eight Romano enforcers converged in a flawless pincer movement, cutting off the enemy’s retreat toward the courtyard.
Within ninety seconds, the foyer was cleared.
The surviving Castiglione operatives were disarmed, zip-tied, and dragged out onto the cold gravel.
But the main assault had only just begun.
From the tree line beyond the driveway, a figure stepped out into the amber glow of the burning gatehouse.
Anthony Castiglione.
He wore a heavy tactical vest over his camel-hair coat, holding an automatic shotgun in his right hand.
He was flanked by four elite bodyguards who carried ballistic shields.
Anthony looked up at the shattered second-floor windows of Blackwood Manor, a wild, maniacal fury twisting his weathered face.
“Henry!” Anthony screamed over the crackle of the flames.
“Send out the girl!”
“Send out Michael’s daughter, and I’ll let your grandson die with a clean bullet!”
Inside the library, Sophie stood by the window, hearing the amplified voice echoing across the courtyard.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She looked at the heavy oak door she had locked from the inside.
She knew why they had come.
They wanted the bloodline extinguished.
They wanted the ledger buried forever.
Before she could second-guess her instincts, she heard the heavy, hurried footsteps approaching down the hallway.
The deadbolt rattled.
“Sophie!” Jake’s voice called out through the wood.
“Open the door!”
Sophie unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the heavy door open.
Jake stood in the hallway, his face streaked with soot and sweat, his breathing heavy.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his dark eyes frantic.
“What are you doing out of the room?” Jake demanded.
“I heard him,” Sophie said, her voice steady despite the chaos echoing from below.
“He’s downstairs because of me.”
“He’s downstairs because he’s a cornered animal who knows his empire is burning to ash,” Jake snapped, pulling her away from the window.
“You are not his target, Sophie.”
“You are his execution.”
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed up the grand staircase.
Marco appeared at the end of the hallway, his tactical vest stained with dark crimson along the shoulder.
“Boss!” Marco shouted over the gunfire.
“They breached the side stairwell!”
“Anthony is heading toward the east wing!”
Jake drew his sidearm, pulling the slide back with a sharp, mechanical clack.
He looked down at Sophie, his gaze softening for a single, intense second.
May you like
“Stay behind me,” Jake commanded.
“No matter what happens.”
