Chapter 9 - The Fire and the Rose
Downstairs, the grand foyer was dead silent.
Alessandro stood at the top of the marble staircase, looking down at the heavy oak front doors. Behind him stood Owen and six of his most trusted men, weapons drawn, lasers painting red dots across the polished wood.
BANG.
The sound of a heavy battering ram slamming against the front doors echoed through the house.
The reinforced oak groaned, splintering around the brass deadbolt.
BANG.
The second strike blew the doors inward, sending wood splinters flying across the marble foyer.
Through the dust and the night air stepped Marcus Vance, holding a riot shotgun, accompanied by four armed mercenaries wearing tactical vests.
“Salvatore!” Marcus roared, leveling his shotgun toward the stairs. “Hand over the woman and the brat, or we burn this entire valley to the ground!”
Alessandro didn't flinch. He slowly descended the first three steps of the grand staircase, his pistol resting casually at his side, his face carved from absolute, unyielding granite.
“You broke my front door, Mr. Vance,” Alessandro said, his deep voice carrying an eerie, lethal calm. “That door was imported from an 18th-century French chateau. It cost more than your entire wardrobe.”
Marcus sneered, taking a step forward. “I’m taking her back, Salvatore. She’s my cousin’s legal wife. You have no legal right to—`”
“Legal right?” Alessandro interrupted, a dark, dangerous smile touching his lips. “You think this is about law?”
He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.
From the shadows of the side corridors, twenty armed men emerged simultaneously, cutting off every exit route, their weapons aimed directly at Marcus and his mercenaries.
The color drained from Marcus’s face. He looked left, then right, realizing too late that he hadn't raided a wealthy estate—he had walked straight into an execution chamber.
“You... you set a trap,” Marcus stammered, lowering his shotgun by an inch.
“You walked into a cage,” Alessandro corrected softly, stepping down another stair. “And now, you are going to listen to me very carefully. If you, or any court on your payroll, or any thug you hire ever comes within fifty miles of Elena Torres or her child again... I won't just kill you.”
Alessandro raised his pistol, the laser dot centering squarely between Marcus Vance’s eyes.
“I will erase your entire bloodline from the face of this earth. Every cousin, every nephew, every shell company, every dime in your offshore accounts—gone before breakfast. Do you understand me?”
Marcus swallowed hard, sweat pouring down his forehead, his knees trembling so violently he could barely stand.
“I... I understand,” Marcus choked out.
“Drop the weapons,” Alessandro commanded.
The four mercenaries instantly let their rifles clatter to the marble floor.
“Owen,” Alessandro said without looking back. “Escort our guests off the property. Make sure they take the scenic route through the municipal incinerator.”
As Marcus and his men were hauled out into the night like common trash, Alessandro holstered his pistol and closed his eyes for a single, exhausted second.
May you like
The war was over before it truly began.
He turned around and walked slowly back up the marble stairs, heading toward the West Wing, where a frightened, pregnant woman was waiting in the dark to find out if her world had survived the storm.
