Chapter 4 - The Rossi Ambush
Two days later, the peaceful sanctuary of Sunset Tower was violently shattered.
It was three o'clock in the morning.
Outside, a thick fog hung over Lake Michigan, muffling the distant sounds of city traffic. Inside the penthouse, everyone was asleep. Beatrice and the twins were in the master suite, while Lorenzo was asleep on the leather sofa in the study, his Kimber .45 pistol resting on the coffee table within arms' reach.
Suddenly, the silent alarm receiver in Lorenzo’s watch vibrated violently against his wrist.
Lorenzo’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, grabbing his pistol in one fluid motion.
The red light on the master security console near the study door was blinking rapidly.
BREACH: SUB-BASEMENT PARKING & SERVICE ELEVATOR B.
"Mateo," Lorenzo hissed into his encrypted earpiece, stepping silently out of the study.
Nothing but static answered.
"Mateo! Report!"
"Boss..." Mateo’s voice came through, strained and wet with blood. "They... they bypassed the main garage... cut the fiber-optic lines... Rossi hit squads... at least twelve men... they’re coming up the service shaft..."
BANG!
A suppressed gunshot echoed over the comms, followed by dead silence.
Lorenzo’s blood ran cold.
Victor Rossi hadn't waited for a commission meeting. He had hired professional mercenaries—former syndicate soldiers from Philadelphia—and bought off the night security supervisor of Sunset Tower to gain access to the service elevator.
Lorenzo sprinted down the hallway into the master suite.
Beatrice was already sitting up in bed, alerted by the subtle shift in the penthouse's air pressure as the service elevator doors opened on the forty-fourth floor.
"Lorenzo?" she whispered, her eyes wide with sudden panic as she saw the drawn gun in his hand.
"Get in the panic room behind the master closet," Lorenzo ordered, his voice razor-sharp and calm. "Take the kids. Lock the iron door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me."
"What about you?!" Beatrice gasped, swinging her legs out of bed.
"I’m clearing the floor," Lorenzo said.
He ran to the closet, hit a hidden release panel behind a row of suits, and a heavy reinforced steel door swung open, revealing a small, climate-controlled room stocked with water, communications gear, and medical kits.
Beatrice grabbed sleeping Leo and Mia in her arms, rushing them into the hidden room.
Before she pulled the heavy steel door shut, she looked at Lorenzo. Her face was pale, but her hazel eyes were burning with an intense, desperate plea.
"Don't you dare die out there, Lorenzo Moretti!" she commanded.
"Lock it," Lorenzo said.
The heavy steel door sealed shut with a thud.
Lorenzo turned around, his eyes cold as ice, his Kimber .45 held in a tight two-handed grip.
He stepped out into the main living room just as the heavy glass double doors leading to the service hallway exploded inward.
Four men wearing tactical vests, night-vision goggles, and suppressed submachine guns rushed into the room, their boots crunching on shattered glass.
BANG! BANG!
Lorenzo fired twice before the mercenaries even established their firing lines.
The lead mercenary took two .45 ACP rounds directly through his center mass, his body slamming backward into his teammate.
"CONTACT! LEFT FLANK!" a mercenary screamed.
Automatic gunfire tore through the living room. High-caliber rounds shattered the floor-to-ceiling windows, sending freezing lake air and fog swirling into the apartment. Velvet curtains were shredded, mahogany furniture was splintered, and glass rained down like hail.
Lorenzo vaulted behind the heavy marble kitchen island, bullets chipping away chunks of white stone above his head.
He dropped his empty magazine, slapped a fresh one into the grip, and racked the slide.
"Check the bedrooms!" a voice with a thick Philadelphia accent ordered. "Victor wants the girl and the kids brought to the docks alive! Kill Moretti!"
Hearing that they were targeting Beatrice and his children sent a surge of pure, lethal adrenaline through Lorenzo’s body.
He didn't wait behind cover.
Lorenzo leaned around the edge of the marble island and opened fire with terrifying, inhuman speed.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The second mercenary dropped with a headshot. The third took three rounds to the throat, collapsing onto the Persian rug in a pool of dark blood.
The four mercenary leader—a broad-shouldered man with a scarred neck—threw a flashbang grenade across the floor toward Lorenzo’s position.
BANG! FLASH!
A blinding white light and a deafening sound wave exploded in the kitchen.
Lorenzo’s vision went pitch-black, a high-pitched ringing screaming in his ears. He stumbled backward, his shoulder slamming into the stainless-steel refrigerator.
Through the white haze, he saw the shadowy figure of the mercenary leader vaulting over the kitchen counter, an iron combat knife glinting in his hand.
The mercenary tackled Lorenzo to the floor. The Kimber .45 was knocked from Lorenzo’s hand, skittering across the floorboards toward the hallway.
The mercenary pinned Lorenzo’s arm, bringing the combat knife down toward Lorenzo’s throat with all his weight.
"Victor Rossi sends his regards, Don Moretti," the man grunted, pressing the steel blade against Lorenzo’s neck.
Lorenzo grabbed the mercenary’s wrist with both hands, his muscles straining as he held the sharp edge an inch from his carotid artery. The blood from Lorenzo’s reopened side wound from weeks ago threatened to tear, but he ignored the white-hot pain.
"My family..." Lorenzo growled through bloody teeth, "...is off-limits!"
Lorenzo violently twisted his hips, using a martial arts leverage technique to flip the heavier man off him. They crashed into the wooden dining table, splintering the legs.
Lorenzo scrambled for his fallen pistol, but the mercenary grabbed his ankle, pulling him back.
Suddenly, a heavy silver object smashed down onto the mercenary’s head with brutal, bone-shattering force.
CRACK!
The mercenary let out a groan and collapsed sideways, blood pouring from his temple.
Standing over him, breathing heavily, her face pale and hair wild, was Beatrice.
She was holding the heavy, solid-brass base of a broken floor lamp like a club. She had stepped out of the panic room the moment she heard Lorenzo struggling.
Lorenzo lay on the floor, staring up at her in utter shock.
"I told you," Beatrice panted, her hazel eyes blazing with fury as she dropped the brass lamp onto the knocked-out mercenary’s chest, "I am not letting you get killed!"
Lorenzo stared at her for two seconds, then let out a rough, incredulous laugh.
He pushed himself up, picked up his Kimber .45, and immediately checked her over. "Are you hurt? Where are the kids?"
"They’re inside the panic room. I locked the secondary door," Beatrice said, her voice shaking slightly as the adrenaline began to fade. "Is it over?"
Before Lorenzo could answer, heavy footsteps pounded up the main staircase.
Lorenzo instantly raised his pistol, pushing Beatrice behind his back.
"BOSS! DON LORENZO!"
Mateo burst into the living room, holding a submachine gun, his left arm wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. Behind him were six loyal Moretti soldiers, their weapons raised.
"The building is secure, Don Lorenzo!" Mateo reported, breathing heavily as he looked at the bodies strewn across the ruined living room. "We neutralized the team in the garage. The service supervisor who let them in is in custody downstairs."
Lorenzo lowered his weapon, letting out a long breath.
He turned to Mateo, his voice cold enough to freeze blood.
"Who hired them?" Lorenzo demanded.
"Victor Rossi paid them," Mateo said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But... Boss... the security codes for the elevator were provided from inside the Oak Brook estate."
Beatrice gasped. "Carmine."
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian.
Carmine hadn't just tried to eliminate Lorenzo—he had given the Rossi family the exact layout of Sunset Tower, knowing that Victor Rossi’s mercenaries would execute Beatrice and the twins to clear the board.
Carmine Moretti was willing to murder his own grandchildren to protect his secret.
"Mateo," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a register of quiet, terrifying absolute authority that made every soldier in the room stand up straight.
"Yes, Don Lorenzo?"
"Call an emergency meeting of the Five Families Commission at The Drake Hotel for tomorrow night."
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Mateo’s eyes widened. "The Commission? Boss, Carmine still holds the official Don charter—"
"Carmine holds nothing," Lorenzo growled, reaching out and gently taking Beatrice’s hand into his. "Tomorrow night, I end his charter. And I take the throne."
