Chapter 5 - The Siege of the West WingThe assault on the Vance estate was fast, violent, and surgical.
Marco Moretti’s twelve enforcers breached the primary foyer glass, their heavy boots echoing against the marble floorboards as they moved up the grand staircase toward the master wing.
They expected to find a helpless, paralyzed mob boss hiding behind scared bodyguards.
What they found was an absolute, lethal trap.
Luke and four of my elite operators held the second-floor landing, firing suppressed bursts from behind mahogany pillars, pinning Moretti's men on the stairs.
I sat in my wheelchair at the end of the primary corridor, positioned in the shadows behind a heavy marble pedestal. Beside me, crouching low, was Emma, holding a heavy iron tactical flashlight, her eyes clear, steady, and sharp as flint.
"Two men moving along the left corridor wall, Danny," Emma whispered into my ear, her voice surprisingly calm, her keen eyes spotting the subtle shadows reflecting off the polished wall mirrors.
"Good eyes, Emma," I murmured smoothly.
I pivoted my wheelchair three inches to the left, raising my Kimber .45 with both hands, aligning my sights with the edge of the mahogany doorframe.
THWIP! THWIP!
Two suppressed rounds cut through the air.
The two Moretti enforcers coming around the corner collapsed instantly onto the carpet floorboards, their weapons sliding uselessly across the floor.
Down at the end of the hall, Marco Moretti himself stepped out from behind a pillar, wearing a heavy leather coat, holding an automatic shotgun. His face was contorted in wild, arrogant rage as he saw me sitting in the center of the corridor.
"Vance!" Marco roared, his voice echoing off the high plaster ceilings. "You crippled bastard! You think sitting in a wheel-chair makes you a king?! Your empire dies tonight!"
Marco raised his shotgun, aiming directly at my broad chest.
Before his finger could touch the trigger, Emma moved.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't scream. She stepped out from behind the marble pedestal, raising the heavy iron tactical flashlight, and flashed its six-thousand-lumen strobe beam straight into Marco's eyes.
The blinding, razor-sharp light struck Marco's retinas like a white flash-bang.
"AAAGH!" Marco shrieked, stumbling backward, his hands flying up to cover his blinded eyes, his shotgun barrel dipping three feet toward the floor.
THWIP!
My single, precision round tore through the air, striking Marco's right shoulder, knocking his heavy frame flat onto his back against the grand staircase railing.
Within twenty seconds, Luke and my remaining operators swarmed the staircase, disarming Marco’s fallen men, securing the entire master wing under absolute, impenetrable control.
The siege was over in less than four minutes.
I wheeled my chair over to where Marco lay bleeding on the carpet, stopping two feet from his trembling frame.
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I leaned down, looking straight into his pale, terrified face.
"You came to my house to kill a monster, Marco," I whispered softly, every word carved from raw, unyielding iron. "You forgot that the monster still owns the gun."
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