Chapter 6 - Midnight Ambush
The rain turned into a blinding squall as midnight approached. The wrought-iron service gates at the rear of the Rossi compound creaked open slowly, moved by the electric motor that Silvio had remotely bypassed.
Through the mist, three black, unmarked SUVs rolled silently along the gravel driveway, their headlights switched off. Twelve men dressed in tactical gear and armed with automatic submachine guns stepped out onto the damp lawn, moving with professional military precision.
Leading the assault team was Victor Marcone, the ruthless younger brother of Don Marcone himself. Victor carried a suppressed tactical rifle, a sadistic grin playing on his face.
"Silvio said the mansion is sleeping," Victor whispered into his throat mic. "Kill anyone on the ground floor. Grab the girl and the maid from the third floor—they're leverage against Bellini and the public. If Dante Rossi returns, we ambush him in his own driveway."
The men split into two squads, gliding toward the rear French doors of the grand ballroom. The glass doors were unlocked, swinging loosely in the wind.
Victor raised a hand, signaling his point man to breach.
The point man stepped into the dark ballroom, stepping over the threshold into the cavernous, chandelier-lit expanse.
Suddenly, blinding halogen floodlights exploded across the room.
The assault team recoiled, shielding their eyes from the sudden, scorching glare. In the center of the vast ballroom, sitting calmly in an upholstered leather wingback chair, was Dante Rossi.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal three-piece suit, a fresh burgundy tie neatly knotted at his throat. Across his knees rested a twelve-gauge combat shotgun. Beside his chair sat a low table holding a glass of Scotch and a crystal ashtray.
"Welcome to the Rossi home, gentlemen," Dante’s voice rolled through the room, magnified by the cold acoustics of the marble hall. "I’m afraid you didn't RSVP."
Before Victor could raise his rifle, the velvet curtains along the upper mezzanine balcony parted. Marco and ten heavily armed Rossi enforcers appeared, leveling assault rifles down into the ballroom.
"Drop your weapons!" Marco bellowed, his voice booming like thunder.
"Fire! Kill him!" Victor shrieked in desperation, raising his barrel toward Dante.
Dante didn't flinch. He raised the shotgun with one arm and pulled the trigger.
The blast tore through the mahogany doorframe next to Victor, the concussive roar deafening the enclosed space. Instantly, the ballroom erupted into a symphony of gunfire and shattering crystal. The high windows blew outward in showers of sparkling glass as Marco’s men rained fire down onto the trapped infiltrators.
Victor’s men scrambled for cover behind marble pillars, but they were hopelessly outmaneuvered and caught in a lethal crossfire. Within three brutal minutes, the gunfire ceased, replaced only by the groans of wounded men and the smell of cordite and burnt gunpowder.
Dante stood up from his chair, dusting a speck of plaster from his sleeve. He walked over to where Victor Marcone lay on his back, clutching a shattered shoulder, staring up in disbelieving horror.
"How... how did you know?" Victor coughed, spatters of blood painting his lips. "Silvio guaranteed—"
"Silvio is dead," Dante said flatly, his shadow engulfing the wounded mobster. "And you made the fatal mistake of letting your men target a four-year-old child under my protection."
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Dante tapped the toe of his polished shoe against Victor’s broken ribs. "Tell your brother that if he ever looks in the direction of this estate again, I won't just kill him. I will wipe the Marcone name out of every ledger, every bank, and every cemetery in this state."
***
