The Siege
The mansion that once felt like a fortress now echoed with terror.
Alarms blared, harsh and unrelenting, their shrill notes mingling with the crack of gunfire outside. Heavy boots pounded against the marble floors as guards rushed to fortify entrances, shouting commands that blurred into chaos. The air smelled of smoke and gunpowder, already seeping through broken windows.
Elena clutched Isabella tightly, her daughter's soft sobs muffled against her chest. She crouched behind the canopy bed, her heart hammering so violently she thought it might shatter her ribs. Every sound felt magnified—the rattle of bullets, the splinter of glass, the guttural shouts of Dante's men as they forced their way onto the estate.
"Stay quiet, baby," she whispered, rocking Isabella in her trembling arms. "Mama's got you. We're safe. We're safe."
But the lie burned her tongue.
The door to her room burst open. A guard—one of Lucian's loyal men—rushed in, face streaked with blood and sweat.
"Elena!" His voice was hoarse, frantic. "We have to move now. They're breaching the east wing!"
Her pulse spiked. "But Lucian—he's not here. He said—he said this place was untouchable!"
The guard grimaced. "Dante planned this. He waited until the boss left. We'll hold as long as we can, but you and Isabella have to get to the safe room."
Safe room. The word barely anchored her.
She stood, clutching Isabella tighter, following the guard through the chaos. The hallways she had once strolled in peace were now a battlefield. Bullets shredded priceless paintings, shards of glass littered the floor like jagged ice. Smoke curled down from the staircase, carrying the acrid scent of fire.
Elena shielded Isabella's head as they ran, her bare feet slipping on the polished tiles. Every scream carved deeper into her mind.
A grenade detonated somewhere nearby. The walls shook, chandeliers swayed, and Elena nearly stumbled. Isabella wailed, her little hands clawing at her mother's neck.
"Shh, baby. Shh," Elena begged, tears streaming down her face. "Mama's not letting go."
---
They reached the service corridor, a narrow stretch leading to the basement. The guard pushed Elena forward. "Down here! The safe room's at the end!"
But before they could descend the steps, gunfire erupted. Dante's men stormed the corridor from the other side, masked and armed, their boots thundering against the floor.
"Go!" the guard shouted, spinning to face them. He fired a spray of bullets, cutting down two, but there were more. Too many.
Elena's scream tore from her throat as he shoved her hard. "Run, Elena! RUN!"
She stumbled, clutching Isabella, forcing herself down the steps. Behind her, the guard's shouts turned to grunts of pain, then silence.
Her chest heaved. No time to mourn. No time to think.
Only run.
---
The basement was colder, darker, the stone walls damp. She sprinted down the hall, whispering frantic prayers under her breath. The safe room door loomed ahead, reinforced steel with a keypad lock Lucian had shown her once, his arm warm around her waist.
If anything ever happens, Elena, you take Isabella here. Don't hesitate.
Her fingers shook as she punched in the code, whispering the numbers aloud. "Seven… three… four… nine…"
The keypad beeped. Green light. The heavy door clicked open. Relief broke through her panic, dizzying in its intensity.
She shoved the door open, slipping inside with Isabella. The room was sterile but secure—stocked with supplies, cameras linked to the estate's security feeds, weapons locked in a steel cabinet.
She slammed the door shut just as boots thundered down the basement stairs. The lock clicked into place.
For a moment, silence.
Then fists pounded against the steel, echoing through the small chamber.
"Elena!" A voice shouted, mocking and cruel. "You think you can hide behind Moretti's toys? Open up, sweetheart. Dante wants you alive."
Her stomach twisted. Dante's men knew. This wasn't random. They were here for her. For Isabella.
---
On the monitors, she saw the estate in flames. Guards fell one by one, outnumbered, outgunned. Her home, her sanctuary, crumbled under the weight of Dante's assault.
Elena sank to the floor, Isabella sobbing in her lap. She stroked her daughter's hair, her tears soaking the child's curls.
"Please, Lucian," she whispered into the silence. "Come back. Come back to us."
---
Meanwhile, miles away, Lucian's car tore down the highway, tires screaming against the asphalt.
Alessandro sat beside him, shouting into his phone. "The estate's under siege! East and west wings are gone—they've breached the inner courtyard!"
Lucian's grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles turned bone white. "Elena. Isabella." The words were a growl, more vow than fear.
"They'll hold as long as they can," Alessandro said, though his eyes betrayed the truth—they might not.
Lucian's jaw clenched. His vision tunneled. "Step on it," he barked at the driver.
If Dante thought Lucian Moretti would arrive too late, he had made the deadliest mistake of his life.
Because tonight, Lucian wasn't just a mafia boss. He was a husband, a father, a man who had already lost too much.
And God help anyone who tried to touch what was his.
---
Back in the safe room, the pounding grew louder. Tools scraped against the steel. The men outside were trying to break through.
Elena pressed her forehead to the cool wall, whispering desperate prayers, clutching Isabella close.
But deep inside, a flicker of defiance sparked.
She wasn't just prey waiting for rescue.
If Dante's men broke through, they would not find her cowering. They would find a mother who would fight to her last breath.