Chapter 4 - THE SIEGE AT NORTH GATE
Dante stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. His gray eyes flashed with cold, calculated fury.
"Lock down the estate to Level Red," Dante ordered into the communicator, his voice dropping into a register of absolute authority. "Activate the perimeter turrets. Do not let a single rat cross that tree line. I want them contained within the ravine before they reach the main courtyard."
"Copy that, Boss. Enforcers moving into position," the voice crackled back before clicking off.
Clara sat up straight in bed, her hands automatically moving to protect her belly. "Mercenaries? Marissa’s brother—Marcus Vance?"
"The very same," Dante said, grabbing his obsidian overcoat from the back of the chair and slipping it on with fluid motion. "Marcus is a mid-level corporate raider with cartel connections in South America. He thinks he can blast his way in and rescue his sister’s collapsing legacy by grabbing you and the unborn heir."
"Dante, be careful," Clara said, her voice laced with genuine fear for his safety. "There could be a dozen of them."
Dante paused at the bedroom door. He turned back, giving her a look of absolute, unshakable confidence. "Clara, this is my house. Nobody touches what is mine."
With that, he stepped out into the hallway, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. The electronic deadbolt slid into place with a definitive clack.
Clara swung her legs over the side of the bed, her ER training kicking in. She couldn't just sit here and wait like a helpless damsel in a tower. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof window that overlooked the northern approach of the estate.
The view outside was breathtaking—and terrifying.
Deep in the wooded ravine below the manicured lawns, flashes of muzzle fire cut through the twilight mist like strings of fireflies. The sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of automatic weapons echoed through the valley. Moretti’s enforcers, clad in tactical gear, moved with terrifying synchronization, flanking the mercenaries and cutting off their advance with ruthless efficiency.
Through her binoculars, Clara watched as two black SUVs belonging to Marcus Vance’s strike team were immobilized by automated spike strips deployed from the estate’s hidden perimeter defenses. Doors flew open, and armed men in black tactical gear scrambled for cover behind ancient oak trees, returning fire wildly into the mist.
"You picked the wrong house, bastards," Clara whispered to herself, a fierce, protective adrenaline surging through her veins.
Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed from the hallway outside her bedroom.
Clara froze.
The security intercom on the wall crackled to life, but it wasn't Dante’s voice coming through the speaker. It was a harsh, raspy voice distorted by a tactical radio scrambler.
“Second team has breached the rear service elevator shaft. Target is isolated on the third floor. Move in, secure the pregnant woman, and eliminate any resistance.”
Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The main battle at the north gate was a diversion. Marcus Vance had sent a specialized infiltration unit straight up the cliffside utility shaft to bypass Moretti’s primary perimeter defense.
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There were no guards outside her door. Dante had pulled every available man to the north gate to crush the main assault.
She was completely on her own.
