Chapter 10
The battle was short and brutal. The invading soldiers, expecting a disorganized defense, were entirely overwhelmed by the disciplined, overwhelming firepower of Rafael’s men. Within fifteen minutes, the gunfire ceased, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the sharp commands of the Capos securing the perimeter.
Silas emerged from the smoke, his face grim but victorious.
"The western flank is secure, Boss," Silas reported, lowering his weapon. "We wiped them out. No breaches into the main house."
"Good," Rafael murmured, holstering his pistol and adjusting his suit jacket. "They threw their vanguard at us and failed. They are vulnerable."
The scent of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the cool night air. Rafael stood amidst the smoking ruins of his western gardens, his tailored three-piece suit completely unblemished by the violence that had just occurred. He looked down at the bodies scattered across the grass.
"They expected an easy victory," Rafael said softly, his deep, raspy voice echoing in the sudden quiet. "They expected me to cower behind my walls."
He turned back toward the main house, his cold, intimidating eyes locking onto Silas.
"The assault on their compound proceeds," Rafael ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "They have exhausted their best men here. I want their leadership eliminated tonight. Leave absolutely no survivors."
"It will be a bloodbath, Rafael," Silas warned, wiping a streak of soot from his face.
"It will be an extermination," Rafael corrected him smoothly. "Burn it to the ground."
As Silas hurried off to mobilize the strike teams, Rafael walked back onto the rear terrace. He stood alone for a long moment, looking out over his vast estate. The physical threat had been neutralized, but the political fallout within the underworld would be catastrophic. He had banished his mother and sister, executed invading soldiers, and declared war on a massive rival syndicate in a single evening.
But as he looked up at the darkened window of his daughter's suite, a profound sense of absolute resolve settled over him. He was the Don. He was the architect of this violent empire. And he would tear the world apart piece by piece before he allowed anyone to threaten his bloodline.
He walked back inside the mansion, navigating the quiet, brilliantly lit corridors. He took the private elevator down to the subterranean holding cells beneath the estate.
The heavy steel door slid open. The grim, concrete corridor was a stark contrast to the luxurious upper floors. Two bodyguards stood outside a reinforced cell at the end of the hall. They opened it immediately as Rafael approached.
Inside the harsh, fluorescently lit room, a captured soldier from the invading force was chained to a heavy metal chair. He looked up, his fair face pale and exhausted.
"Rafael," the soldier gasped, his breathing labored. "What... what happened?"
"Your men came for my daughter," Rafael stated softly, stopping in the center of the room. His cold, sharp eyes bored into the prisoner. "They died on my grass. And your compound is currently burning to the ground."
The soldier let out a pathetic sob, dropping his head. The final shred of hope for rescue was entirely gone.
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"You killed them all," the soldier wept.
"I protected my house," Rafael corrected him, his voice a low, lethal hum. "From the enemies outside, and the parasites within. Now, you are going to tell me exactly what the Romanovs have planned for New York."
