Chapter 17 - Defense of the Brownstone
Ten minutes before the call, inside the Back Bay brownstone, Elena had already sensed the shift in the air.
She stood in the second-floor gallery overlooking the grand foyer, holding an antique silver candelabra. The exterior motion lights in the rear garden had flickered twice before dying completely—a classic indicator that the external power lines had been severed by an experienced breach team.
Elena didn't scream, and she didn't cower. Instead, she set down the candelabra, walked into the master bedroom, and unlocked the heavy steel safe concealed behind the oil painting of the Venetian canals. From inside, she retrieved a sleek, matte-black compact pistol that I had taught her to strip, clean, and fire during our early days in the North End.
"Boys," she said, stepping into their bedroom.
All four quadruplets were already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor in their pajamas. They didn't have their toys out; they were holding heavy brass bookends and solid oak curtain rods they had dismantled from the windows.
"The bad men are downstairs, aren't they?" Leo whispered, his hazel eyes wide but steady.
"Yes," Elena said, crouching down and looking each of them dead in the eye. "And we are going to show them that this house belongs to the Morettis. Mateo, Marco—take the panic room inside my closet. Lock the reinforced door from the inside and do not open it for anyone except your father or me. Do you understand?"
"We're not leaving you, Mom," Dante said stubbornly, gripping his brass bookend like a medieval club. "We fight together."
"Dante Moretti, this is an executive order from your commanding officer," Elena said with a fierce, loving smile, kissing his forehead. "You protect your brothers in that safe room. Leo, you hold the override key. Move!"
The boys scrambled into the master closet, sliding behind the hidden steel door that sealed shut with a heavy magnetic click.
Downstairs, the heavy oak front doors groaned beneath the impact of a hydraulic ram. With a splintering crash, the reinforced hinges gave way, and four armed men in tactical gear poured into the marble foyer, led by seventy-year-old Arthur Barrett, who leaned on a gold-tipped cane, his eyes burning with ancient, poisonous malice.
"Search the rooms!" Barrett barked to his men. "Find the woman and the bastards! If Dominic wants his empire intact, he will sign over every dock and warehouse before sunrise!"
"You're trespassing, Arthur," a calm, feminine voice rang out from the top of the sweeping marble staircase.
Barrett looked up, a sneer spreading across his weathered face. "Elena Vance. Or should I say Mrs. Moretti? Drop the toy, girl. You're completely outmatched. Dominic is halfway across the city playing soldier at Pier 14."
"Dominic isn't the only one who knows how to defend this house," Elena replied coldly.
Without a second of hesitation, she raised the pistol and fired two precise rounds into the antique crystal chandelier hanging directly above the foyer. The heavy, thousand-pound brass and crystal fixture snapped from its chain, plummeting through the air and crashing into the center of the foyer in a cataclysmic explosion of shattered glass, metal, and blinding sparks.
The two lead mercenaries were crushed beneath the falling fixture, their weapons scattering across the slick marble. The remaining two guards scrambled backward, coughing through the rising cloud of plaster dust.
"Kill her!" Barrett shrieked, backing toward the shattered doorway.
May you like
Before the surviving guards could raise their rifles, the roar of screeching tires shattered the night outside. My armored SUV tore straight through the wrought-iron front gates, smashing into the courtyard fountain in a shower of stone and water.
I kicked the driver’s side door open, combat shotgun in hand, stepping into the ruined foyer like the wrath of God himself.
