Chapter 13 - The Shattered Sanctuary
The Suburban tore through the rain-slicked winding roads of Lake Forest at ninety miles an hour, tires shrieking around the sharp curves, headlights slicing through the pitch-black woods. Vincent sat in the passenger seat, his hands gripping the dashboard so hard the leather groaned under his fingers.
His mind was a hurricane of terrifying calculations. The safe room in the basement of the estate was reinforced with twelve inches of ballistic steel, independently powered, with oxygen scrubbers and secure communications. But getting Nora and Lucy inside required crossing fifty feet of exposed hallway from the living quarters.
"Faster, Frank!" Vincent roared, the speedometer needle edging toward one hundred.
"We’re two minutes out, boss!" Frank shouted, fighting the hydroplaning steering wheel as they blew through the estate's outer checkpoint.
The heavy steel gates hung off their hinges, blown inward by military-grade breaching charges. The security guard stationed in the booth was slumped over the desk, alive but bleeding heavily from a head wound.
Vincent cocked his custom rifle, his senses sharpening into pure lethal focus. All the humanity, all the peace he had cultivated over the last six months was stripped away, leaving only the butcher who had conquered Chicago’s underworld.
As the vehicle skidded onto the circular driveway in front of the main house, the scene was carnage.
Two black SUVs were parked sideways across the lawn, their doors flung open. The grand front doors of the estate were shattered, splintered mahogany littering the grand entryway. Gunfire was still echoing from the second-floor mezzanine.
Vincent didn't wait for the car to stop. He kicked his door open and hit the pavement rolling, coming up onto one knee with his rifle raised.
A masked gunman dressed in tactical gear stepped out of the front foyer, raising an MP5. Vincent fired twice. Two center-mass rounds dropped the shooter instantly to the marble steps.
"Mason!" Vincent yelled over the roar of the wind.
From behind the stone fountain in the courtyard, Mason popped up, his left arm wrapped in a blood-soaked tourniquet, his pistol smoking. "Vincent! Upstairs! Three of them went up toward the master suite! Nora was heading for the nursery when the breach happened!"
Vincent didn't speak. He vaulted over the terrace steps and entered the house like a demon unleashed.
The grand foyer was in ruins. Crystal from the shattered chandelier was strewn across the floor like glittering ice. Spent brass casings rolled underfoot. In the center of the living room, near the piano, lay a trail of dark blood.
Vincent’s heart stopped.
Then, from the top of the sweeping staircase, a terrifying sound echoed: the deep, guttural roar of a Cane Corso locked in a life-or-death battle.
Vincent flew up the stairs three at a time.
At the end of the long hallway leading to Lucy’s bedroom, two masked men were backed against the wall. Bishop was between them and the bedroom door—a raging wall of muscle, teeth, and raw protective fury. The dog was bleeding from a deep graze along his flank, but his jaws were clamped shut around the arm of one intruder, shaking the man violently while the second gunman tried desperately to line up a shot without hitting his partner.
"Drop it!" Vincent’s voice thundered down the corridor.
The second gunman whipped around, raising his weapon toward Vincent.
Vincent didn't hesitate. Three rapid shots tore through the man's chest, throwing him backward into the wall. The first gunman, still pinned by Bishop's crushing bite, dropped his weapon, screaming in agony.
"Bishop, out!" Vincent commanded.
The massive dog released the shattered limb instantly, stepping back but keeping his blood-flecked jaws bared, his eyes fixed on the surviving attacker.
Vincent crossed the distance in two strides, driving his combat boot into the wounded man’s face, pinning his head against the hardwood floor. He pressed the hot muzzle of his rifle against the man's forehead.
"Who sent you?" Vincent whispered, his voice shaking with absolute lethal intent.
The man spat blood, his eyes wild with terror beneath the mask. "Vance... Vance said... the girl belongs in a cage..."
Vincent’s jaw tightened. With a swift, brutal strike of his rifle butt, he knocked the man unconscious.
Then, turning toward the bedroom, Vincent pushed open the heavy oak door. "Nora!"
The room was pitch black. But in the corner, crouched inside the walk-in closet behind a barricade of overturned dressers, Nora emerged.
She was holding Vincent’s spare 9mm pistol in a two-handed grip, her knuckles white, her arms shaking violently. Tucked tightly between her legs, hidden beneath a pile of heavy winter coats, was Lucy. The little girl had her face buried in Nora’s sweater, her tiny hands clutching Captain Carrot with all her might, trembling silently.
When Nora saw Vincent’s silhouette in the doorway, the gun lowered. The weapon clattered to the carpet, and she collapsed forward, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent, racking sobs.
Vincent dropped his rifle and fell to his knees in front of them, wrapping his powerful arms around both his wife and his child.
"I’m here," Vincent choked out, burying his face in Lucy’s soft hair, feeling the frantic thump of Nora’s heart against his chest. "I’m here. You're safe. I've got you."
Lucy pulled her face away from Nora’s shirt, her big hazel eyes wide, brimming with tears. She reached out one trembling, chubby little hand, touching the smear of blood on Vincent’s cheek.
"Daddy..." she whispered, her tiny voice breaking the heavy silence of the ruined house. "The bad men wanted my bunny."
Vincent pulled the little girl so close he could barely breathe, his dark eyes staring out through the shattered window into the black, rain-soaked night.
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The peace was over. The war had begun.
***
