Chapter 13
The battle in the courtyard raged, the air thick with the acrid smell of cordite and burning rubber. The Cole family's assault was ferocious, fueled by the rage of a insulted dynasty, but they had severely underestimated the fortified nightmare that was the Falcone estate. Domenico moved along the balcony, his eyes scanning the chaotic skirmish below. He spotted a tactical team attempting to flank the eastern entrance, their movements synchronized and deadly. Without a word, Domenico vaulted over the stone balustrade, landing heavily on the roof of the portico below. He dropped into their midst like an avenging shadow. Before the lead gunman could even register his presence, Domenico fired twice into his chest, then spun, shattering the jaw of the second man with the butt of his pistol. The close-quarters combat was brutal, visceral, and blindingly fast. Domenico fought with the savage, street-level instincts that had built his empire, his tailored trousers and dress shirt quickly stained with the blood of his enemies. He broke a man's arm with a sickening crack, using him as a human shield against a barrage of incoming bullets, before dispatching the rest of the squad with ruthless efficiency. He stood amidst the groaning bodies, his chest heaving slightly, his cold eyes scanning the perimeter. The flanking maneuver was crushed. The message was written in blood: the Falcone house would not fall tonight.
