Chapter 7 - The Siege
The storm hit Boston at twilight.
Freezing rain hammered against the glass walls of the penthouse, turning the city lights into a blurry smear of neon and shadow. The wind wailed like a banshee against the steel girders of Moretti Tower.
Downstairs, the building had been placed on total lockdown. Twelve of my best men patrolled the lobby, and the private elevators were keyed only to my biometric pass.
In the master suite, Elena was tucking the boys into the king-sized bed. All four were piled together under a massive goose-down comforter, exhausted from a day of playing video games and eating junk food they had never been allowed to have before.
"Mama, can we stay here forever?" Lucas mumbled sleepily, his eyelids fluttering closed. "The bed is like a giant cloud."
Elena brushed the hair from his forehead, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Go to sleep, sweet boy. We'll talk about tomorrow when tomorrow comes."
She waited until all four boys were breathing in the slow, rhythmic cadence of deep sleep before stepping out onto the terrace hallway.
I was standing by the window, checking the magazine of my Glock 19 before sliding it back into my shoulder holster.
"You really think they’ll come here?" she asked, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill radiating off the glass.
"Barrett is desperate," I replied quietly, locking the safety on the weapon. "A politician who loses his funding and his reputation is more dangerous than an armed thief. And Salvatore knows that if he doesn't eliminate me tonight, he spends the rest of his miserable life in federal prison."
Elena walked over to me, looking up into my face. The anger that had lived in her eyes for six years was completely gone. In its place was a fierce, agonizing tenderness.
"I spent six years hating you, Dominic," she whispered, reaching out to touch my jaw. Her fingers traced the line of my scar. "I told myself you were a monster. I told myself our boys were better off without you."
"They were," I admitted, looking down. "Look at this night, Elena. You're hiding in a fortified tower while armed men circle the block."
"No," she said firmly, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her. "They weren't better off. Today, for the first time in six years, Leo didn't ask why other kids had dads at soccer practice. Mateo laughed until he cried. You gave them that in twenty-four hours."
She stepped into my arms, resting her forehead against my chest. "Don't die tonight, Dominic. Please. Don't make me lose you a second time."
I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. The scent of her—pure, untainted by the filth of this city—flooded my senses. I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers.
It was desperate, hot, and starving. Six years of grief, six years of missed mornings and lonely nights melted away into a single, breathless collision. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, as if she could pull my soul inside her to keep it safe.
Suddenly, the power cut out.
The penthouse plunged into pitch-black darkness.
The hum of the HVAC system died. The city lights outside flickered and failed as the building’s backup generators clicked on with a dull, distant thud, casting eerie red emergency lights across the polished concrete floors.
The radio on my chest squawked to life with frantic static.
*—Boss! Boss, they’re in the freight elevator! They cut the main power lines at the substation! It’s Barrett’s private contractors—they’ve got military-grade gear—*
Gunfire erupted through the radio, followed by the deafening sound of an explosion on the lower floors.
"Marco!" I barked into the radio. "Status!"
*—Elevator doors are breaching on the penthouse floor! Boss, take cover!—*
The sound of shattering glass tore through the silence of the private foyer.
"Elena, get in the bedroom. Lock the steel door," I commanded, drawing my Glock in a single, fluid motion. "Do not open it for anyone except me."
"Dominic—"
"Go!" I roared.
Elena darted into the bedroom, slamming the reinforced steel door shut. The deadbolt engaged with a heavy clunk.
I moved into the shadows near the marble pillar, my breath steady, my focus narrowing into a laser beam of lethal intent.
Three men stepped through the shattered foyer doors, dressed in black tactical gear, assault rifles raised. Through the red emergency lights, I saw the insignia on their vests: private security contracted by Marcus Barrett.
And behind them, holding a pistol with shaking hands, was Salvatore.
"Dominic!" Salvatore shouted into the darkness, his voice cracked with mania. "It’s over! The building is surrounded! Marcus signed the warrants! You walk out with your hands up, or we blow that bedroom door off its hinges!"
I didn't answer with words.
I leaned out from behind the pillar and fired two shots.
The first tactical contractor dropped instantly, a bullet through his neck. The second dove for cover behind the granite island as automatic fire tore into my pillar, chipping off chunks of marble that rained down on my shoulders.
I dropped low, rolling across the floor toward the bar counter. I picked up an abandoned silver ice bucket, hurled it toward the left corridor to create a distraction, and as the remaining contractor turned his barrel toward the sound, I rose and put two rounds into his center mass.
He collapsed with a heavy thud of tactical gear against hardwood.
Salvatore panicked. He turned to flee toward the elevator, but I was faster.
I closed the distance in three strides, kicking the back of his knee. Salvatore crashed to the ground, screaming in pain as his pistol went skittering across the floor.
I planted my boot firmly in the center of his chest, pressing him down until the ribs creaked beneath his expensive wool coat. I leveled my gun directly between his terrified, watery eyes.
"Dominic... please," Salvatore gasped, blood trickling from his split lip. "We’re blood. You can't kill your own uncle. Your father... your father wouldn't allow this!"
"My father died because he trusted you," I said coldly. "And you threatened my sons."
"Wait! Wait! I have money! I have accounts in the Caymans—ten million, twenty million—it’s all yours!"
May you like
"I don't need your money, Salvatore," I whispered, resting my finger against the trigger. "I have everything I want."
***
