Chapter 3 - The Front Gates Shattered
We did not use the keypad or the intercom to enter my estate. I ordered Silvio to drive the lead armored SUV directly through the wrought-iron service gates. The twelve-ton reinforced vehicle hit the locks with a deafening, metallic crash that tore the iron from its stone hinges, sending sparks flying into the stormy night.
Within seconds, the manor’s tactical perimeter lit up. Floodlights blazed across the gravel courtyard, and six armed guards with patrol dogs came sprinting from the guardhouses, their weapons raised toward the intruding vehicles.
I stepped out of the second SUV before it even came to a complete halt.
The moment the perimeter guards saw my face beneath the harsh white security lights, they froze. The guard dogs stopped barking, whining as their handlers jerked their leashes back in terror. The head perimeter guard, a man named Marco who had been on my payroll for five years, lowered his rifle instantly, his face turning pale.
"Don't move a single muscle," I commanded, my voice carrying over the thunder. "Where is Dante?"
"In... in the main house, Signor D’Angelo," Marco stammered, his eyes darting nervously toward the battered SUV where my men were assisting Elena and Mia inside. "He is in the master study. He told us you were delayed in Monte Carlo for the weekend..."
"He lied," I said coldly. "Disarm your men. If I see a single weapon drawn inside my walls when I step through those doors, I will treat you all as hostiles."
I marched up the grand marble steps of the manor, flanked by four of my most elite personal operatives. The heavy double doors were unlocked. As I crossed the threshold into the vaulted grand foyer, the warmth of the house and the scent of expensive cedarwood greeted me—a stark contrast to the freezing brutality outside.
At the top of the sweeping staircase stood Dante.
He was wearing a silk dressing gown over his dress shirt, a glass of scotch in his right hand. He was a man I had pulled from the slums of Naples fifteen years ago, a man whose debts I had paid, whose blood I had avenged, and whom I had elevated to second-in-command of my entire southern organization. He looked down at me, a fleeting shadow of shock crossing his eyes before he quickly rearranged his features into a mask of smooth, apologetic concern.
"Lorenzo! My brother," Dante exclaimed, hurrying down the marble steps with his arms open slightly. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to be closing the harbor deal with Petrov! If you had called, I would have had the staff prepare a warm meal—"
May you like
I raised one hand. Dante stopped three steps above me, his smile faltering as he finally noticed the cold, unblinking stares of my strike team, and behind them, wrapped in my oversized overcoat, Elena and little Mia standing in the doorway.
"Explain to me, Dante," I said, my voice eerily quiet in the massive hall, "why I found a woman who raised my household, and a five-year-old child under my protection, bleeding in the mud outside my gates at three o'clock in the morning."
