Chapter 8 - The Breach
The black armored sedan tore through the heavy rain, running red lights with its sirens blaring silently as Mateo drove at terrifying speeds toward the Riverdale estate.
Inside the rear seat, Harper was in a state of absolute, blind hysteria.
“If anything happens to her, Vincent!” Harper cried out, her nails digging into Vincent’s forearm through his suit coat. “If anyone touches my sister, I swear to God—”
“Listen to me!” Vincent barked, grabbing both of her shoulders and forcing her to look straight into his eyes. “Look at me, Harper!”
Harper looked at him, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
“Lily is safe,” Vincent said, his voice hard, steady, and rock-solid. “My house is a fortress. The inner panic room in the east wing is made of six-inch reinforced steel. Miss Clara knows what to do. I will not let anything happen to your sister. Do you trust me?”
Harper stared at the dangerous man she had married. She saw no hesitation in his face—only absolute, lethal determination to protect her family.
“I trust you,” she sobbed softly.
“Good,” Vincent said. He reached into a hidden compartment beneath his seat, pulled out a sleek black semi-automatic pistol, checked the magazine with a sharp clack, and racked the slide.
The sound was bone-chilling.
The sedan screeched up the winding brick driveway of the estate.
The heavy iron gates were wide open, two security guards lying unconscious on the wet gravel near the guardhouse.
Mateo slammed the car to a halt under the portico.
Before the car had even completely stopped, Vincent opened his door and stepped out into the pouring rain, his gun held low at his side.
“Stay in the car, Harper!” Vincent yelled over his shoulder. “Mateo, stay with her!”
“No!” Harper screamed, pulling open her door and running out into the torrential downpour right behind him, ignoring Mateo’s frantic calls.
They burst into the grand foyer.
The beautiful white marble floor was covered in wet mud, shattered crystal from a broken wall sconce, and signs of a violent struggle. Two of Vincent’s internal guards were holding a young man in a black tactical jacket pinned against the curved staircase, his nose bleeding heavily.
Standing near the middle of the foyer was Dominic Moretti’s primary lieutenant—a ruthless, scarred mercenary named Sal.
Sal had two armed men standing behind him, both holding handguns.
“Romano!” Sal shouted, a nasty, victorious grin spreading across his bloodstained face as he pointed his gun at Vincent. “Dominic sent us to deliver a message! You think you can take over the docks and get married like a normal man? You owe Dominic ten million dollars for the shipping contracts you stole!”
Vincent didn't stop walking. He didn't take cover. He walked right down the center of the foyer, his heavy leather boots clicking on the wet marble, his gun raised with terrifying precision.
“You entered my home,” Vincent said, his voice so quiet, so devoid of human emotion that it sent a shiver of pure horror through everyone in the room. “You threatened my family.”
“Drop the gun, Romano, or my guy upstairs blows the little girl’s head off!” Sal sneered.
Harper let out a horrifying shriek of sheer terror.
Vincent’s eyes didn't even flicker.
“Your guy upstairs is already dead, Sal,” Vincent said coldly.
Right on cue, the double doors at the top of the grand staircase swung open.
Mrs. Hudson, the older housekeeper, stood on the landing holding a heavy double-barreled shotgun, flanked by two heavily armed Romano tactical guards. Standing behind them, completely unhurt, was Lily, clutching her giant teddy bear tightly while Miss Clara held her hand.
“Lily!” Harper screamed with unspeakable joy.
“Harper!” Lily called down, her voice trembling slightly, but she was completely uninjured.
Sal’s face went completely pale. He realized instantly that he had walked into a death trap. He had vastly underestimated the military-grade security of the Romano estate.
“Drop your weapons,” Vincent commanded, his gun pointed straight at Sal’s forehead. “Now.”
Sal looked up at the shotgun pointed at him from the balcony, then looked at the cold, lethal eyes of Vincent Romano. He panicked.
Sal raised his weapon to fire.
BANG! BANG!
Two rapid gunshots echoed thunderously through the grand foyer.
Vincent fired twice with surgical precision. Sal dropped his weapon, collapsing onto the marble floor with two bullet wounds to his chest, groaning in agony as his men immediately threw their guns onto the floor, raising their hands in absolute surrender.
The quiet returned to the mansion, broken only by the sound of heavy rain beating against the front doors.
Harper didn't hesitate. She ran past the bloody scene on the floor, sprinting up the grand curved staircase and throwing her arms around Lily, pulling her into a tight, desperate embrace.
“You’re safe, baby, you’re safe,” Harper sobbed uncontrollably, kissing Lily’s face again and again.
Vincent lowered his weapon, clicking the safety back on. He looked up the curved staircase at Harper holding her sister.
Harper looked down at him through her tears.
He was standing in the middle of a warzone he had created, surrounded by blood and fallen enemies. He was a dangerous, violent man—the most dangerous man in the city. But as he looked up at her, his eyes were filled with an intense, raw vulnerability that shattered the last remaining wall between them.
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He had saved her sister. He had protected her home.
Vincent turned to Mateo. “Clean this mess up. Call the police commissioner and tell him Dominic Moretti’s men attempted a home invasion. I want Dominic in handcuffs before sunrise.”
