Chapter 5 - The Blood on the Marble
The sound of the bullet striking the stone fountain behind Samantha’s head was a sharp, cracking explosion that sprayed bits of grey marble into her hair. She held Lily tight against her chest, her body serving as a living shield, her eyes closed as she waited for the next impact.
But the second shot didn't come from the attackers.
From the balcony above the courtyard, a heavy, thunderous roar shook the estate. Vincent stood at the iron railing, a customized black assault rifle braced against his shoulder, his face turned into a mask of pure, demonic fury. He fired three precise, rhythmic shots.
The two men on the lawn fell instantly into the manicured grass, their weapons clattering against the brick walkway.
"Nico! Secure the girl!" Vincent roared, jumping over the low stone railing of the balcony and dropping fifteen feet onto the grass below without a single pause. He sprinted toward Samantha, his rifle held ready as his security team swarmed the perimeter, their weapons clearing the remaining shadows of the estate.
Vincent dropped to his knees in the wet grass, his large hands frantically checking Samantha’s back, his chest heaving with a terrifying, uncharacteristic panic. "Are you hit? Sam, look at me! Are you bleeding?"
"I’m... I’m okay," Samantha gasped, her voice trembling as she lifted her head from Lily’s shoulder. The little girl was crying hysterically, but she was entirely uninjured, the golden retriever puppy licking her tears from her face. "Lily is safe. Vincent... they tried to take her."
Vincent looked at the fallen men on the lawn. One of them was still moving, his hand reaching weakly for a phone in his tactical vest. Vincent walked over, his heavy leather boot coming down on the man’s wrist with a crushing force that produced a sickening snap.
He reached down, snatched the phone, and pressed the answer button just as it began to ring.
"Moretti," a smooth, nasal voice spoke from the receiver—Agnes Caldwell’s husband, Richard. "Did you enjoy the delivery? My wife wants her niece, Vincent. And the Lucchesi family wants your shipping docks. We made a deal. You return the girl, sign over the Cicero ports, and we let your new little waitress live."
Vincent didn't yell. He didn't threaten. He lifted the phone to his mouth, his voice dropping into a quiet, absolute whisper that carried the cold weight of a graveyard.
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"Richard," Vincent said, his eyes fixed on Samantha, who was currently being escorted toward the house by a phalanx of six armed guards. "You just brought a war to my wife’s garden. You have three hours to leave the state of Illinois. If you or your wife are still inside the city limits by sunset, I will personally show you what happens to men who threaten my family. And Richard... the Lucchesi family cannot save you. Because by five o'clock, they won't have an organization left."
He smashed the phone beneath his heel, turning back toward the house. His immaculate suit was stained with mud and blood, his hair wet from the rain, but as he looked at Samantha waiting for him by the doorway, his expression turned into something beautiful, fierce, and entirely devoted.
