Chapter 5 - The Siege and the Betrayal
The lights in the subterranean office flickered and died, plunging the room into emergency red illumination.
Dominic’s expression transformed in a fraction of a second from tender vulnerability to cold, lethal focus. He drew his Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster with lightning speed, shoving Chloe behind his broad frame.
“Stay behind me,” Dominic ordered, his voice like iron.
“What was that?” Chloe gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“A breach,” Dominic said grimly, tapping his lapel communicator. “Noah! Report!”
Static hissed through the comms before Noah’s frantic voice broke through. “Boss! We’re hit! A coordinated strike on the western perimeter gate! They’ve got heavy ordnance—it looks like the McCarthy crew, backed by someone with inside access to our security layout!”
Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched. Inside access. Only a handful of people had the complete security layout of the estate.
And then, the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind with terrifying clarity.
“Derek,” Dominic muttered under his breath.
“What?” Chloe asked, peering around his shoulder.
“That pathetic ex-fiancé of yours didn't just crawl away after the bakery incident,” Dominic said darkly. “He ran straight to the McCarthy faction, trading whatever insider information he could gather about you in exchange for enough cash to skip the country.”
Before Chloe could process the betrayal, the heavy oak doors of the office splintered inward as a concussion grenade rolled across the polished floor.
“Get down!” Dominic shouted, tackling Chloe to the ground and shielding her body with his own just as the blast detonated, sending a shower of wood splinters and drywall raining over them.
Smoke filled the corridor outside. Heavy footsteps crunched over the debris.
“Russo!” a harsh voice echoed through the hallway. “Come out and hand over the girl! Your reign in Chicago is over!”
Dominic stood up, coughing slightly from the smoke, his pistol raised and ready. He looked down at Chloe, who was already scrambling to her feet, her eyes burning with fierce determination rather than fear.
“You stay in the panic room behind the bookshelf,” Dominic ordered, grabbing her arm.
“I’m not hiding while you fight an army,” Chloe snapped, pulling away from him. She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from a side table and hefted it in her hand. “You forget, Dominic. I survived a gala shooting. I know how to handle myself.”
Dominic stared at her for a split second, a fierce, wild pride flashing in his gray eyes. He didn't have time to argue.
“Fine,” Dominic grunted. “Watch my six.”
What followed was twenty minutes of brutal, high-stakes combat inside the estate. Side by side, the mafia boss and the former event coordinator moved through the shadows of the mansion. Dominic eliminated the advance strike team with ruthless efficiency, while Chloe used her knowledge of the estate’s architecture to flank an intruder trying to breach the nursery wing, cracking him across the back with the brass candlestick before he even knew what hit him.
By the time Noah and the primary security detail counter-attacked from the rear courtyards, the invaders were trapped in a crossfire.
In the center courtyard, surrounded by smoke and federal sirens wailing in the distance as the local police—prompted by anonymous tips from Dominic’s high-level contacts—closed in, the leader of the strike team was pinned against a stone pillar.
And cowering behind him, terrified and bleeding from a minor graze on his forehead, was Derek Mitchell.
Dominic stepped out into the courtyard, his gun lowered, his suit stained with soot and drywall dust. He walked straight toward Derek, who dropped to his knees, sobbing hysterically.
“Please! Don’t kill me!” Derek wailed, pressing his hands together in supplication. “I was forced! They made me do it!”
Dominic stood over him, his shadow falling across Derek like a executioner’s axe.
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“You traded port security codes and attempted to compromise my family,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “You didn't just sign your own death warrant, Derek. You bought yourself a first-class ticket to a maximum-security federal penitentiary where you will spend the rest of your natural life.”
Federal marshals swarmed the courtyard seconds later, slapping handcuffs on Derek as he shrieked and protested, dragging him away into the night air while Britney watched from a police cruiser down the road in absolute devastation.
