Chapter 5 - The War at the GatesThe Castello estate looked entirely different when viewed from the master suite on the top floor rather than the staff quarters in the basement.
The room was vast, dominated by a carved mahogany bed, tall arched windows overlooking the churning gray Atlantic, and a fireplace of black marble. For three days, Sadie had lived in a state of suspended animation. She had staff waiting on her hand and foot—people who had once treated her as an invisible fellow worker now addressing her with stiff, absolute deference as Mrs. Castello.
She hadn't seen much of Victor. He left before dawn and returned after midnight, moving through the sprawling stone mansion like a phantom general managing a war on multiple fronts.
Dante Moretti had briefed her briefly on the second day: Mick O'Shea’s associates had tried to push back after their boss vanished into federal custody, attempting to test the new boundaries of the territory. But Victor’s syndicate had crushed the resistance before it even reached the city limits.
Now, on the fourth night, the war came straight to the front gates.
Sadie was standing by the bedroom window, watching the rain lash against the reinforced glass, when a sharp, rhythmic series of concussions echoed through the estate.
Gunfire.
Not distant fire—close. Right at the perimeter wall.
The security alarms didn't blare with sirens; instead, a low, amber warning light began to pulse silently along the baseboards of every hallway in the mansion.
The bedroom door burst open. Victor strode in, his coat off, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, a heavy automatic pistol already strapped into a shoulder holster across his chest. He looked calm, but his eyes burned with cold, focused fury.
"Get into the panic room behind the walk-in closet," Victor ordered immediately, his hand gripping her arm to guide her away from the windows. "Now, Sadie."
"What's happening?" she demanded, pulling back, her fear momentarily overridden by adrenaline. "Who’s out there?"
"The remaining factions from the South Side, trying to make a statement," Victor said grimly. "They think attacking the house while my security detail is rotating will show weakness. They're about to learn how expensive that lesson is."
"I'm not hiding in a closet while my home is attacked," Sadie snapped, planting her feet. Four days ago, she would have cowered. Four days ago, she was a frightened maid scrubbing blood from Persian rugs. But the ring on her finger felt heavy, cold, and real. "I am a Castello now, aren't I? That’s what you told the entire city."
Victor stopped. He looked down at her, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous intensity. A slow, grim smile touched the corner of his mouth—not a warm smile, but the expression of a predator recognizing his own bloodline in another.
"Dante," Victor called out toward the open door.
May you like
Dante appeared instantly in the hallway, gun drawn. "Boss?"
"Give her the backup piece from the armory," Victor instructed, his gaze never leaving Sadie’s face. "And keep her behind the load-bearing pillars in the eastern corridor. If anyone breaches the foyer, she shoots."
