Chapter 2 - The Siege of the GatehouseAt 2:15 AM, the storm over the Hudson River reached its absolute peak, burying Manhattan under blinding white sleet and howling winds.
Inside the private, gated courtyard of the Vance Estate in Upper Manhattan, twenty midnight-black SUVs sat idling in the dark, their headlights turned off. Thirty armed enforcers in heavy dark coats stood stationed along the perimeter walls, holding tactical rifles.
I stood on the glass balcony of the second-floor library, wrapped in a dark wool coat, holding my newborn twin girls tightly against my chest in a soft cashmere sling. My heart hammered against my ribs, but for the first time in my twenty-six years of life, I wasn't hiding in a dark closet. I was standing behind the most dangerous man in New York.
Beside me stood Elias Vance. He wore an immaculate black suit, holding a heavy custom Sig Sauer pistol at his side, his posture tall, imposing, and sovereign.
BOOM!
The iron gates at the main entrance were thrown open with a violent, metallic crash!
Four armored pickup trucks belonging to the Moretti syndicate rammed through the gatehouse, screeching to a halt in the center of the sunless courtyard.
Stepping out from the lead vehicle, flanked by twelve broad-shouldered hitmen, was Arthur Miller.
My former husband wore a cheap leather jacket, his face twisted in a desperate, arrogant sneer, his bloodshot eyes searching the balcony windows above. Beside him stood Dominic Moretti’s younger brother, Anthony Moretti, holding a heavy shotgun.
"VANCE!" Arthur screamed, his shrill, pathetic voice echoing off the stone walls. "Bring out my wife! Bring out my daughters! You have no right to keep another man's family!"
Elias didn't yell. He stepped up to the stone balustrade, resting his hands against the wet granite, looking down at Arthur with absolute, weightless indifference.
"You left them under a bridge to freeze, Arthur," Elias’s deep baritone carried clearly through the howling wind, echoing cleanly through the courtyard speakers. "You forfeited your right to be a husband, a father, or a man the second you left Ava bleeding in the snow."
Arthur thrashed his hands frantically, pointing his revolver up toward the balcony. "SHE IS MY PROPERTY! THE LAWS OF THIS CITY RECOGNIZE MY MARRIAGE! IF YOU DON'T HAND THEM OVER, THE MORETTI FAMILY WILL TEAR THIS ESTATE DOWN TO THE GROUND!"
Anthony Moretti stepped forward, raising his shotgun. "Hand over the girl and the infants, Elias! We have thirty men surrounding this block!"
Elias offered a soft, razor-sharp smile—a look of pure, ancient fury that dropped the temperature in the courtyard to absolute zero.
"You brought thirty men to a war, Anthony," Elias whispered. "I brought the entire city."
CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.
High above on the surrounding rooftops of Lake Shore Drive, fifty high-powered spotlights suddenly detonated into blinding white light!
Over eighty armed Vance security officers stepped out from the shadows of the estate perimeter, their laser sights painting dark red dots across every single Moretti hitman in the courtyard.
Arthur Miller’s face turned an ugly, paper-white shade of green. His revolver slipped from his trembling, numb fingers, clattering flat against the icy pavement.
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"A-Anthony..." Arthur stammered, taking a frantic step backward. "They... they were waiting for us!"
"Drop your weapons," Elias commanded flatly, every word dropped like a block of glacier ice. "Or every Moretti in this courtyard feeds the Hudson River before sunrise."
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