Chapter 7 - War in the City
By morning, the body of Dominic was gone, the rug replaced, and Oyster Bay was transformed into an active war zone.
Marco Russo realized his insider mole was dead when Dominic failed to check in at dawn. Desperate, backed into a corner by Dante’s relentless destruction of his supply lines across New York, Russo launched an all-out, suicidal assault.
It was 4:00 PM when the sky turned black with storm clouds.
A fleet of five heavy armored SUVs smashed through the front iron gates of the Oyster Bay estate, tearing up the manicured lawns. Automatic gunfire erupted across the grounds as fifty Russo mercenaries breached the perimeter, spraying high-caliber rounds into the mansion’s stained-glass windows.
BOOM!
A grenade detonated near the front portico, shaking the stone foundation of the house.
Inside the panic room in the sub-basement, Rosa Marino sat with a heavy 38-caliber revolver in her lap. Clara sat beside her, wielding a trauma kit, wrapping the bleeding shoulder of a young guard who had been hit during the initial breach.
“He shouldn’t be out there alone!” Clara shouted over the thunderous roar of gunfire echoing down the concrete shaft.
“He is not alone!” Rosa yelled back, her eyes bright with the old fire of the family’s bloodline. “He has forty men who would die for him! And he has the vengeance of a man protecting his home!”
Upstairs, the main foyer was a slaughterhouse.
Dante stood on the grand marble staircase, an assault rifle locked against his shoulder. He moved with cold, lethal precision, dropping Russo mercenaries as they surged through the shattered mahogany front doors. Shell casings rained down the stairs, clinking rhythmically against the marble floor.
“Dante!” Mateo bellowed from the side hall, reloading his submachine gun. “Russo is in the third car! He’s trying to set thermite charges on the west wall!”
Dante discarded his empty rifle, pulled two heavy handguns from his tactical vest, and walked down the stairs into the smoke and fire.
He stepped out onto the rain-drenched portico.
The wind howled, driving rain sideways across his face. In the middle of the ruined driveway stood Marco Russo, a heavy set man in a leather coat, frantically trying to wire an explosive device to the estate’s structural pillars.
Russo turned, raising his gun, but Dante was faster.
He fired two shots, striking Russo in both knees. Russo collapsed onto the wet gravel with a shriek of pain, dropping his weapon.
Dante walked slowly down the steps, the heavy rain washing the gunpowder residue from his arms. He stood over the rival Don, looking down at him with dark, pitiless eyes.
“You brought war to my home, Marco,” Dante said softly over the sound of the storm.
“Dante… wait!” Russo choked out, coughing up blood, scrambling backward against the tires of his burning SUV. “We can make a deal! The docks… you can have the docks! Just let me walk!”
“You sent a silver bullet with her name on it,” Dante said, raising his gun. “You threatened the woman who saved my mother.”
“She’s nobody!” Russo screamed in terror. “She’s just a fucking therapist!”
“She is my Queen,” Dante replied.
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BANG.
The gunshot echoed across the Long Island Sound, swallowed by the roar of the thunder. The war for New York was over.
