Chapter 6 - The Breach at Midnight
The deafening roar of the heavy SUV crashing through the iron front gates reverberated through the foundation of the Corvino estate, shaking the glass panes of the study windows.
Inside the darkened room, the second tactical operative froze, his rifle half-raised as his attention violently split between the gunman in the wheelchair and the sudden, chaotic intrusion outside.
“What the hell is that?” the operative snarled, his eyes darting toward the foyer.
Vincent didn't waste a microsecond of the distraction. Seated low behind the heavy mahogany desk, his grip on the .45 caliber pistol tightened. He adjusted his aim by a fraction of an inch and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The heavy slug caught the operative in the shoulder, spinning him off balance and sending him crashing heavily against the walnut-paneled bookshelf. The man’s assault rifle slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly onto the marble floor. He groaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he slumped down into a dark corner.
The study fell into a tense, breathless silence, broken only by the ragged breathing of the wounded men and the distant, violent revving of an engine outside.
Tessa emerged from her crouch near the desk, her face pale in the moonlight, holding the heavy brass paperweight like a club. She looked at the two fallen operatives, then down at Vincent, who was carefully lowering the hammer of his weapon with one steady hand while his other arm gripped the wheel of his chair.
“Are you hit?” Tessa asked, her voice trembling slightly for the first time all night.
“I’m fine,” Vincent rasped, his eyes fixed on the open doorway. “Check the hallway. That vehicle didn't crash through the gates to deliver mail.”
Tessa crept cautiously toward the shattered double doors, peering out into the sprawling, shadow-drenched foyer.
Outside, the headlights of the intruder vehicle illuminated the grand staircase in blinding, sweeping beams. The driver’s side door of the black pickup truck slammed shut, and heavy, urgent footsteps echoed across the marble tiles of the front hall—not the stealthy, disciplined tread of Dominic’s professional hit squad, but something heavier, faster, and utterly desperate.
“Vince!” a familiar, frantic voice shouted over the echoing emptiness of the mansion. “Vince, you in here?!”
Vincent’s dark eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. It belonged to Frankie “The Teeth” Marino, one of his oldest and most loyal capos from the East Side docks—a man everyone in the inner circle had assumed was either dead or had already flipped to Dominic’s side.
“Frankie?” Vincent called out, his voice cutting through the dark like a blade.
A moment later, Frankie stumbled into the study, panting heavily, his clothes disheveled and a nasty bruise blossoming across his left cheekbone. He stopped short when he saw the two downed operatives and Vincent sitting behind the desk with a smoking gun.
Frankie let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, Boss. I thought I was too late. Half the guards at the gate took bribes from Dominic to let his cleaners in tonight. I had to ram the security booth just to get the truck through.”
Vincent lowered his gun completely, setting it down on the desk. “You’re alive. Word on the street was you took a payout and retired to Florida.”
“Payout?” Frankie spat on the floor in disgust. “Those rats tried to corner me at the fish market this morning because I wouldn't sign off on the harbor transfer. I didn't take their money, Vince. I took their accountant hostage instead.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened, a cold, calculating light returning to his eyes. “An accountant? Tell me you brought him with you.”
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Frankie smirked, stepping aside to reveal the doorway. Pushed roughly into the study by another one of Frankie’s loyal enforcers was a terrified, sweating man in an expensive gray suit, clutching a leather laptop case to his chest like a shield.
It was Marcus Vance—not the detective, but Dominic’s chief financial officer and the man who held the digital keys to every illicit offshore account the family owned.
