Chapter 7 - A Shadow on the Perimeter
At three o'clock in the morning, the silence of the estate was shattered by the shrill, rhythmic pulse of a perimeter breach alarm.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Roman was awake before the second alarm sounded. In a single fluid motion, he rolled out of bed, reached under his pillow, and drew a black custom Sig Sauer 9mm pistol with a sound suppressor.
The master bedroom lights shifted to tactical crimson emergency illumination.
"Stay down," Roman ordered, his voice sharp and focused.
I sat up, adrenaline surging through my veins, throwing the blankets aside. "Roman, what is it?"
"Front gate motion sensors were cut," Roman said, racking the slide of his weapon. "Matteo, report," he spoke into a small tactical radio clipped to the nightstand.
"We have six hostiles moving through the northern tree line toward the greenhouse," Matteo’s voice crackled through the speaker amidst the distant sound of suppressed gunfire. "They're wearing tactical gear with no insignia. Professional mercenaries. They used military-grade EMPs to disable the outer camera grid!"
"Lock down the safe room," Roman commanded. "I'm securing Evelyn now."
"Roman, look at the monitor!" I called out, pointing to the encrypted security screen on the wall that was running on a backup battery.
Through the night-vision camera overlooking the southern terrace, I saw four men in black balaclavas setting explosive breaching charges against the reinforced glass doors of the library.
"They aren't here to hit the estate," I realized in horror. "They aren't targeting your armory. They're heading for the third-floor study—they're looking for the bank authorization codes to the Republic Bank safety deposit box!"
Grant had figured out that Roman knew about the ledger. In his desperate panic, my brother had hired foreign mercenaries to raid the Caruso estate, slaughter everyone inside, and burn the evidence before Roman could present it to the five families of the syndicate commission.
"Matteo," Roman barked into the radio. "They're breaching the southern terrace. Flank them from the eastern breezeway. Take none of them alive."
Roman grabbed a second pistol from the bedside safe, checked the magazine, and handed it to me. "Do you know how to use this?"
I took the heavy steel weapon in both hands, checking the safety with practiced familiarity. "My father made sure I knew how to shoot before I knew how to drive."
A rare, dangerous smile crossed Roman's lips. "Good. Stay behind me."
The sound of a muffled explosion echoed from the first floor as the library glass shattered. Heavy boots pounded against the hardwood floors below.
Roman led the way out of the bedroom into the dimly lit hallway. Moving with terrifying tactical efficiency, he swept the corners. When the first masked mercenary rounded the landing of the grand staircase with an assault rifle raised, Roman fired twice.
The intruder collapsed instantly without making a sound.
A second gunman emerged from the shadows of the gallery, firing a burst of automatic rounds that shredded the antique wallpaper inches above our heads. Roman pulled me behind a marble pillar, returning fire with pinpoint precision. The gunman crumpled over the railing, plummeting to the marble floor below.
Suddenly, a shadow lunged from the adjacent corridor behind Roman, tackling him to the floor. A massive mercenary wielding a combat knife struggled to pin Roman’s gun arm to the ground.
"Roman!" I screamed.
The mercenary raised the blade, aiming for Roman's throat.
I didn't hesitate. I raised the Sig Sauer with both hands, aligned the iron sights with the mercenary's shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The 9mm round tore through the attacker’s collarbone, throwing him off balance. Roman immediately capitalized on the opening, driving his elbow into the man’s throat before disarming him and neutralizing the threat with a single lethal strike.
Roman sprang to his feet, breathing heavily. He looked at the fallen attacker, then turned to me.
"Nice shot, Mrs. Caruso," he murmured, his eyes blazing with admiration and fierce pride.
"I told you I had many talents," I replied, lowering the smoking weapon.
Below us, the sound of gunfire ceased as Matteo and Roman’s security team finished clearing the remaining mercenaries from the grounds. Matteo ran up the stairs, his weapon lowered, checking the scene.
"Estate is clear, boss," Matteo reported, slightly out of breath. "We found Canadian syndicate identification on the lead contractor. Grant paid them three million dollars upfront through a Montreal wire transfer."
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Roman wiped a smear of blood from his cheekbone, his expression settling into one of absolute, unyielding finality.
"Sun's coming up in two hours," Roman said, turning to Matteo. "Prep the armored convoy. We go to Republic Bank, retrieve Evelyn's ledger, and summon the Commission. Tonight, we end Grant Mercer once and for all."
