Chapter 4 - The Siege of Lake Forest
The heavy ballistic shutters automatically slammed down over the massive glass windows with a series of loud, metallic booms, sealing the mansion into a steel tomb.
Red emergency lights flickered on along the corridors.
Linda screamed as the floor shook beneath her feet—a heavy grenade explosion detonating near the front courtyard.
"MARIA!" Vincent yelled into his wrist communicator as he sprinted across the study toward the concealed wall safe behind his desk. "Get the girls into the panic room beneath the library! NOW!"
"I have them, Don Vincent!" Maria’s voice crackled back through the static. "We are moving into the vault!"
Vincent threw open the wall safe, pulling out a sleek matte-black assault rifle, two sidearms, and tactical vests. He threw a bulletproof Kevlar jacket at Linda’s feet.
"Put it on," Vincent ordered, his voice transforming instantly back into the terrifying, ice-cold tone of the supreme Don of the Rossi syndicate.
Linda stared at the heavy black jacket on the floor, her hands shaking violently. "Vincent... what is happening?!"
"Carmine Falcone has been waiting for a moment of weakness," Vincent growled, strapping a tactical harness across his broad chest, slapping a twenty-round magazine into his rifle with practiced, lethal speed. "He must have had a spotter at the street festival today. He knows I brought you and the girls here."
"Oh god..." Linda gasped, grabbing her head in panic. "This is what I was afraid of! This is why I ran! You brought war to my children!"
Vincent stepped up to her, grabbed the Kevlar vest, and forced her arms through the straps, pulling the heavy velcro tight around her waist.
"Listen to me, Linda," Vincent commanded, grabbing both sides of her face, forcing her to look into his dark, burning eyes. "Nothing is going to touch those girls tonight. Do you hear me? I will kill every man who steps onto this grass before they reach that library."
He pulled a small, silver nine-millimeter pistol from his belt and slammed it into her hand.
"Do you remember how to use this?" he asked sternly. "I taught you seven years ago."
Linda held the heavy steel gun, her fingers automatically finding the grip, her heart pounding like a drum in her throat. "Safety off, chamber racked, aim for the center mass."
A fierce, prideful smile touched Vincent’s lips for a fraction of a second. "That's my girl."
He gripped her neck, pulling her toward him and pressing a hard, violent kiss onto her lips. It was a kiss tasted of salt, whiskey, and pure desperation—a reawakening of an ancient, dangerous fire that had been buried for seven long years.
Before Linda could react, Vincent pulled back, turned toward the study doors, and kicked them open.
"Stay behind me!" Vincent roared as gunfire erupted in the grand hallway below.
The interior of the mansion had turned into a war zone.
Twenty masked Falcone mercenaries in dark tactical gear were pushing up the grand marble staircase, trading heavy automatic fire with Rossi guards positioned along the second-floor balcony.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He stepped out onto the balcony, raised his rifle, and laid down a devastating stream of fire.
Three mercenaries fell instantly, their bodies tumbling backward down the marble stairs.
"DON ROSSI IS ON THE BALCONY!" a mercenary screamed from below.
Vincent leaned over the railing, firing with terrifying, surgical precision. Every shot found its target. He moved like a demon, completely indifferent to the bullets chipping away at the stone pillars beside his head.
Linda stood in the doorway of the study, holding the silver pistol in two hands, watching him fight.
For seven years, she had hated him for his violence. But as she watched him stand between a squad of armed killers and the room where her three daughters lay sleeping, a terrifying truth struck her heart.
The violence she hated was the only thing keeping her children alive.
A heavy wooden door at the far end of the hallway suddenly crashed open.
A massive mercenary holding a shotgun stepped out of the shadows, aiming directly at Vincent’s exposed back while he was engaging enemies below.
"VINCENT! BEHIND YOU!" Linda shrieked.
The mercenary turned toward the sound of her voice, raising the shotgun toward Linda.
Linda didn't think. She didn't hesitate.
She raised the silver nine-millimeter pistol, aimed for center mass just as he had taught her, and pulled the trigger three times.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The bullets struck the mercenary squarely in his chest plate, throwing him backward against the wall. Before he could recover, Vincent spun around, stepped forward, and put a final round through the man's helmet.
The hall fell into a sudden, eerie silence, broken only by the crackle of burning tapestries and the groans of dying men below.
Vincent stood over the fallen mercenary, breathing heavily, his rifle lowered. He slowly turned around to look at Linda.
She stood in the doorway, the silver gun still raised, her hands shaking, tears streaming down her face as she stared at what she had just done.
Vincent walked over to her slowly. He gently reached out, took the pistol from her trembling hands, and engaged the safety.
"You saved my life, Linda," Vincent whispered softly.
Linda collapsed against his chest, sobbing violently, burying her face into his blood-stained tactical vest.
"I didn't save you..." Linda wept against his neck. "I saved my children's father."
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Vincent wrapped his massive arms around her, holding her tight against his heart, his chin resting against her dark hair as the smoke drifted through the ruined mansion.
"The war ends tonight, Linda," Vincent promised, his voice cold as a tomb. "I'm going to finish Falcone once and for all."
