Chapter 6 - The Siege of Dyker Heights
The lights inside the nursery flickered once, twice, and then went completely black.
Instantly, the emergency generators hummed to life in the basement, casting a dim, red-tinted security glow across the ivory carpets.
Outside, the crackle of automatic gunfire erupted near the main gates—sharp, popping sounds that cut through the roar of the thunderstorm like dry twigs snapping underfoot.
Leo began to cry, his small fists digging into Clara’s grey sweater.
“Shh... quiet, my brave little soldier,” Clara whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She held him tightly against her shoulder, her mind moving with terrifying, logical speed.
She remembered Rico’s rule: A fortress.
She didn't run for the main staircase. She knew that if Rossi’s men had breached the front gates, the grand foyer would be the first kill zone. Instead, she moved toward the rear service corridor behind the nursery wardrobe—a narrow passageway Maria had shown her during her first week, used by staff to transport linen directly to the laundry rooms in the basement.
She grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the crib, wrapped Leo entirely inside it to muffle his cries, and stepped into the dark service stairs just as the sound of boots stomped onto the third-floor balcony outside.
The stairs were steep, cold, and narrow.
Clara went down quickly, step by step, her hand trailing against the damp stone wall. She could hear shouting above—foreign voices speaking harsh Italian, doors being kicked off their hinges, glass shattering in the main hallway.
When she reached the ground floor service door, she peeked through the small brass spyhole.
The rear hallway near the medical wing was a scene of controlled chaos.
Two of Rico’s guards were firing through the rear glass doors into the rain, their heavy handguns deafeningly loud even through the reinforced walls.
On a leather sofa in the secondary medical room, Rico lay propped up against blood-soaked pillows. His white shirt was torn open, saturated with dark crimson from a clean entry wound near his left collarbone. A house doctor was working frantically over him, trying to stop the bleeding while Marcus stood over them both, reloading a submachine gun with sharp, mechanical clicks.
“Where is the boy?” Rico demanded, his voice hoarse, his face deadly pale as he tried to push the doctor’s hands away. “Marcus! Where is my son?”
“Dominic went to get them, Boss!” Marcus shouted over the sound of breaking glass from the front foyer. “They’re heading for the panic room!”
Clara didn't hesitate. She pushed the service door open and stepped straight into the medical room.
“Rico!” she called out.
Rico’s head snapped toward her. Despite the blood pouring down his chest, despite the grey pallor of shock settling over his skin, his pale grey eyes locked onto Clara and Leo with an intensity that made the surrounding room vanish.
“Clara...” Rico choked out, his hand reaching out blindly.
Clara ran to the sofa, kneeling beside him. She set Leo down between Rico’s arm and his side.
The three-year-old immediately reached out his small hand, touching his father’s pale, sweat-streaked cheek.
“Papa...” Leo whimpered softly, his tears stopping as he saw his father’s face. “Papa hurt?”
Rico’s fingers—shaking from blood loss—wrapped around his son’s small hand, pulling the boy close against his uninjured side.
“I’m okay, tesoro,” Rico whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he had hidden for years. “Papa is okay.”
He looked up at Clara, his icy eyes bright with an unspoken, desperate gratitude.
“Take him through the wine cellar,” Rico said, pointing with a blood-stained finger toward a heavy iron door at the back of the medical suite. “The tunnel leads to the carriage house outside the perimeter wall. Marcus has a car waiting on 84th Street.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” Clara said firmly, grabbing a clean roll of gauze from the doctor’s tray and pressing it hard against Rico’s shoulder wound.
Rico winced, a low growl escaping his throat, but his grip on her wrist was surprisingly strong.
“You have to take him, Clara!” Rico growled, his face inches from hers. “Rossi isn't here for the territory! He came to end the Moretti line! If they find Leo—”
“They won't find him,” Clara said, her voice dropping into a tone so cold, so absolute, that even Marcus stopped to look at her. “Because you are coming with us.”
She looked at Marcus. “Help me get him up.”
Marcus hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “She’s right, Boss. We can’t hold the main house if they bring heavy explosives. We move to the tunnel now!”
Together, Marcus and Clara lifted Rico to his feet.
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Rico groaned, his teeth grinding together as he fought off blackouts, resting his heavy weight on Marcus’s broad shoulder while Clara held Leo against her hip with one arm and supported Rico’s waist with the other.
They stepped into the dark iron doorway of the tunnel just as the heavy oak doors of the medical suite were blown inward with a deafening, metallic blast.
