Chapter 4 - Blood in the Foyer
Down in the grand foyer, the air smelled of ozone, shattered crystal, and fresh blood.
The massive chandelier—a multi-tiered cascade of imported Bohemian glass that had hung in the Moretti entrance hall for over a century—now lay in a sparkling ruin across the marble floor. Smoke curled lazily from a neutralized flash-bang grenade near the main staircase.
Dante Moretti descended the sweeping marble stairs two at a time, his Sig Sauer drawn and ready. Behind him, Rocco and three tactical enforcers moved in a synchronized wedge, sweeping the shadows of the vaulted ceiling.
“Status!” Dante barked.
“ West wing breach!” Rocco shouted over the ringing in his ears. “They blew the side security door using a shaped thermite charge. Two of our men down at the checkpoint—they’re stable, but out of the fight.”
“How many?”
“At least four in the entry team. Pros. Mercenaries from the Boston Vanguard outfit.”
Dante’s eyes scanned the shattered foyer. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the open marble floor. The shadows beneath the balcony offered perfect concealment.
“Flush them out,” Dante ordered.
Before Rocco could signal the enforcers, a silenced submachine gun chattered from the upper landing. Bullets chewed into the carved wooden balustrade above Dante’s head, showering him in splinters.
Dante didn't flinch. He pivoted, raised his weapon, and fired twice into the shadows of the upper alcove.
A muffled grunt echoed from above, followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing against the carpeted hallway.
“Got one!” an enforcer yelled from the west corridor.
Suddenly, the estate’s emergency generator stuttered, and the overhead lights flickered violently before dying completely. The grand foyer plunged into deep, suffocating shadow, illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the high clerestory windows.
“Thermal optics on!” Dante commanded, his voice slicing through the dark.
In the dim glow of his tactical HUD, Dante moved silently toward the library corridor. He knew every inch of this house. He knew where every floorboard creaked, where every shadow pooled, and where every secret exit lay.
A dark figure stepped out from behind a marble pillar, raising a rifle.
Dante was faster. A single 9mm round caught the mercenary in the center of his tactical vest, spinning him backward against the stone wall. The man dropped his weapon with a metallic clatter and slid to the floor.
Dante stood over him, pressing the barrel of his gun against the mercenary’s chest.
“Who’s running the op?” Dante demanded, his voice dangerously low.
The man coughed, a thin line of blood spilling from his lip. He smiled, a bloody, defiant grin. “You’re... too late, Moretti. The archive... is already open.”
Dante’s blood ran cold.
May you like
The west gallery safe.
He spun around, sprinting back toward the grand staircase, leaving Rocco to secure the lobby. If the safe had been compromised, the entire foundation of the syndicate was exposed.
