Chapter 12
The shockwave of the blast shattered the remaining glass in the western wing, sending a shower of crystal down upon the manicured lawns. Flames licked at the twisted iron of the destroyed gates, casting an eerie, demonic glow over the encroaching darkness. Through the smoke and fire, a convoy of heavily armored SUVs tore into the estate's grounds. The Cole syndicate had not sent mere foot soldiers; they had sent an elite hit squad, armed with military-grade weaponry and a desperate mandate from their patriarch, Silas Cole. Gunfire erupted instantly, tearing through the night air like a barrage of deadly hail. Domenico’s men, entrenched behind marble pillars and reinforced barricades, returned fire with disciplined, lethal precision. The courtyard transformed into a chaotic war zone. Domenico stepped out onto the second-floor balcony overlooking the carnage, the heavy matte-black pistol gripped firmly in his tattooed hand. He was a terrifying silhouette against the burning backdrop, his unbuttoned shirt billowing slightly in the heated wind. He raised his weapon, his aim steady and cold. He didn't fire wildly. Each pull of the trigger was a calculated execution, dropping the advancing attackers one by one. He was not just a boss commanding from the shadows; he was the apex predator of his empire, defending his territory with a ruthless, hands-on brutality that struck fear into the hearts of the men dying below him.
