Chapter 9 - The First Strike
The attack came at 3:00 AM,
the hour when the world is most vulnerable.
It didn't start with a bang,
but with a silence so profound it was deafening.
The power to the estate was cut,
plunging the mansion into total darkness.
I was awake in a heartbeat,
my hand reaching for the pistol under my pillow.
"Marco!"
I shouted into the comms.
"The perimeter is breached!"
Small,
muffled pops sounded from outside—
the sound of suppressed rifles taking out the outer guards.
I threw on a tactical vest and grabbed an assault rifle from the rack in my closet.
I ran to the room where Sarah and Emma were sleeping.
I didn't knock;
I kicked the door open.
Sarah was sitting up,
wide-eyed and gasping.
"Get in the panic room,"
I commanded,
grabbing her by the arm and pulling her toward the hidden door behind the bookshelf.
"What’s happening?"
she cried,
clutching Emma to her chest.
"They’re here,"
I said,
shoving them into the small,
steel-lined room.
"Do not open this door for anyone but me or Marco."
"Do you understand?"
She nodded,
her face pale in the moonlight.
I slammed the door shut and locked it just as a flash-bang grenade exploded in the hallway.
The light was blinding,
and the ringing in my ears was like a physical pain.
I dove behind a marble statue as three men in black tactical gear rounded the corner.
They weren't common street thugs;
these were professionals.
They moved with military precision,
covering each other as they advanced.
I popped out and fired a burst,
catching the lead man in the chest.
He went down,
but the other two suppressed me with a hail of lead.
Plaster and wood chips sprayed over me as I crawled toward the stairs.
"Luca! Nico! Report!"
I yelled into the radio.
"They’re in the kitchen, Boss!"
Luca’s voice was strained,
the sound of heavy gunfire in the background.
"We’re being pinned down!"
I realized then that this wasn't just a kidnapping attempt.
This was an extermination.
They wanted everyone in this house dead to ensure the ledger never saw the light of day.
I threw a smoke grenade down the stairs and followed it,
using the thermal scope on my rifle to pick out the heat signatures of the invaders.
One,
two,
three.
I took them down as they struggled to see through the haze.
The house was filled with the smell of cordite and the screams of dying men.
I reached the grand hall and saw Marco fighting hand-to-hand with a giant of a man.
I fired a single shot,
dropping the attacker,
and pulled Marco to his feet.
"How many?"
I asked.
"At least twenty,"
he panted,
reloading his handgun.
"They came in through the service tunnels."
We fought our way back to the stairs,
forming a defensive line.
For an hour,
the estate was a slaughterhouse.
Every room was a battleground,
every corridor a kill zone.
But we were fighting for our home,
and they were fighting for a paycheck.
By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon,
the shooting had stopped.
The mansion was a wreck—
windows shattered,
priceless art riddled with bullets,
and the marble floors stained red.
But we were still standing.
I walked back to the panic room and tapped the code.
The door opened,
and Sarah looked out,
her eyes filled with a terror that broke my heart.
"Is it over?"
she whispered.
I looked at the bodies in the hallway and the smoke rising from the garden.
"The first wave is over,"
I said,
lowering my rifle.
May you like
"But they won't stop."
"We can't stay here anymore."
