Chapter 6 - The Siege of Gramercy
The rain hit Manhattan with violent intensity shortly after midnight. Lightning flashed across the sky, casting long, dramatic shadows through the high stained-glass windows of the Gramercy brownstone.
Emma lay awake in the master bedroom on the second floor—where Dante had insisted she sleep beside him for safety. Dante was sitting at the edge of the large four-poster bed, wearing dark trousers and a dark silk shirt, a sleek black pistol resting on the nightstand beside him.
Emma sat up, pulling the duvet around her shoulders. “You haven't slept at all.”
Dante turned to her, his face illuminated by the periodic flashes of lightning. “I sleep when my home is secure, Emma.”
Suddenly, the house’s silent security alarm flashed red on a small panel near the door. The main power to the brownstone instantly cut out, plunging the entire house into pitch darkness, save for the emergency backup lights along the floorboards.
“Stay here,” Dante commanded quietly, reaching for his weapon. “Lock the bedroom door behind me and do not open it for anyone except me or Gabe.”
“Dante, no!” Emma whispered, grabbing his arm. “Don't go down there alone!”
“I am never alone in this house, Emma,” Dante said, kissing her forehead deeply. “Lock the door.”
He slipped out into the hallway, silent as a shadow. Emma immediately turned the heavy brass key in the door lock, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Downstairs, the heavy oak front doors had been breached using a hydraulic jack. Three heavily armed men, led by Sal Vance himself, slipped into the dark foyer. Sal’s face was twisted in a mask of vengeful rage; he knew his legal career was over, and he intended to take Dante down with him before fleeing the country.
“Find Moretti!” Sal hissed to his men, pulling a suppressed pistol from his coat. “And find the girl! I want them both!”
Before his men could advance toward the grand staircase, the emergency lights flickered off completely.
A cold voice rang out from the darkness above. “You always were a terrible strategist, Sal.”
A sharp shot rang out, echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. One of Sal’s men dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, disarmed and unconscious.
Gabe and two security guards emerged from the shadows of the side parlors, moving with military precision. Within seconds, a frantic firefight broke out in the foyer. The sharp crack of gunfire and the splintering of antique furniture shattered the quiet night.
upstairs, Emma heard the chaos. She pressed her back against the locked door, tears burning her eyes. She couldn't just sit here like a helpless victim—not anymore. She wasn't the scared waitress trapped in an Astoria bathroom.
She looked around the dark bedroom for anything she could use. On the vanity sat a heavy brass candlestick holder. She grabbed it, her grip tight and steady in her uninjured right hand.
Suddenly, footsteps hurried down the carpeted hallway toward her room. Someone rattled the brass doorknob violently.
“Emma! Open up!” a rough voice demanded. It wasn't Dante. It was Sal’s second-in-command, a brutish man who had kicked the lock off the front door.
The man kicked the heavy oak door near the lock. The wood held, but the latch gave way under a second shoulder blow. He burst into the dark room, raising his flashlight to search the space.
“Come out, little girl—”
Emma stepped out from behind the doorframe and swung the heavy brass candlestick with all the strength in her body. The heavy metal collided solid with the side of the man’s jaw.
He groaned loudly, dropping his flashlight and stumbling backward onto the Persian rug. Before he could recover, Emma kicked his gun across the floor under the bed and brought the candlestick down a second time, striking his shoulder and knocking him out cold.
Chest heaving, her hands trembling with adrenaline, Emma stood over the fallen man. She had defended herself.
A moment later, Dante appeared in the doorway, his gun lowered, his clothes slightly disheveled. He took in the scene—the unconscious intruder on the floor and Emma standing victorious with a brass weapon in hand.
A slow, proud smile broke across Dante’s face.
“I see you had everything under control,” he said softly.
Emma dropped the candlestick, running straight into his arms. Dante caught her tightly, pulling her up against his chest, burying his face in her hair.
May you like
“Sal?” she managed to ask between breaths.
“Federal agents were waiting outside the gates,” Dante reported quietly, rubbing her back. “Gabe drove them straight into their arms. Sal Vance is in handcuffs. It is over, Emma. Truly over.”
