Chapter 8 - The Siege of the Orsini Estate
The lights across the estate instantly cut out, replaced by the emergency amber glow of backup generators. An alarm began to sound—a low, rhythmic pulse that vibrated through the floorboards.
Josephine gasped, grabbing Raphael’s arm as the sudden darkness swallowed the room.
“Stay here,” Raphael ordered, pulling a heavy black 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster with a smooth, practiced motion. “Lock the door behind me and do not open it for anyone except Gideon or Mrs. Roz.”
“Raphael, wait!” she cried, using his first name for the second time that night.
He paused at the threshold, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the amber gloom. “I won't let them hurt you, Josephine. I promise.”
He stepped into the corridor, pulling the heavy oak door shut until he heard the lock click from the inside.
Downstairs, the heavy glass doors of the conservatory shattered as three armed men clad in tactical gear broke through the perimeter defense. Moretti had sent ten of his best mercenaries, desperate to eliminate Raphael before his supply lines were destroyed.
Raphael moved through the shadows of his own home like a ghost.
The first attacker stepped into the grand foyer, his assault rifle raised. Raphael stepped out from behind a marble pillar, fired two precise shots into the man’s torso, and pulled his body behind the curtain before his boots hit the floor.
Two more attackers moved up the grand staircase.
Raphael flanked them from the upper gallery, his gunfire echoing through the vaulted ceilings like thunder. Within three minutes, four of the intruders were down, their weapons clattering against the marble steps.
Down in the subterranean vault, Gideon was evacuating Mrs. Roz and the remaining kitchen staff into a hidden escape tunnel that led off the property.
“Where is Miss Hartley?” Mrs. Roz demanded, clutching her cardigan against her throat.
“She’s upstairs with Raphael,” Gideon replied grimly, rack-ing the slide of a shotgun. “Which means she’s in the safest place in this state right now.”
At the top of the stairs, the surviving leader of the mercenary team—a scarred gunman named Vane—realized his team was being picked off one by one. Desperate for leverage, he sprinted down the second-floor hallway, checking room numbers until he found the guest wing.
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He reached Room 204 and kicked the heavy oak door with all his weight.
The lock splintered. The door burst open.
