The grand staircase spirals upward from marble floors that have hosted three generations of Moretti family gatherings. Oil paintings of long-dead ancestors look down from gilt frames while afternoon sunlight streams through stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across Persian rugs worth more than most houses.
“Civilized discussion is preferred outcome,” Boris agrees, his men flanking him with weapons holstered but visible. “Business partnerships require trust and mutual benefit.”
Kasimira walks beside me, one hand resting protectively on her belly while the other grips my arm. The shell company documents are tucked under her other arm.
“The conference table seats twelve,” I suggest, gesturing toward the formal dining area adjacent to the main hall. “We can reviewthe financial arrangements properly, discuss restructuring options that benefit everyone.”
“Excellent proposal,” Marco agrees, pulling out his phone to check another message. “I’ll coordinate with our associates to ensure—” His fingers move across the screen in a pattern that looks more like signaling than texting.
“Marco,” I say quietly. “What are you doing?”
“Just confirming security arrangements with?—”
The front door explodes inward.
Six men in tactical gear pour through the entrance, automatic weapons raised, moving with military precision toward the main hall. Russian voices barking orders echo off marble walls as they spread out to establish fields of fire.
“Fucking traitor!” Dante snarls, producing a pistol from inside his jacket.
But Marco is already diving behind the massive mahogany dining table as gunfire erupts from three different directions simultaneously.
The Russians open fire first, spraying bullets across the hall in controlled bursts designed to suppress resistance while they establish position. Marble chips explode from columns as automatic weapons chatter, sending deadly fragments ricocheting off priceless artwork.
Dante’s men emerge from concealed positions throughout the house—armed figures who must have infiltrated through the hidden passages he knows so well. They return fire with coordinated efficiency, using the grand staircase and upper balconies as elevated shooting positions.
My own security team responds within seconds, Benedetto’s voice cutting through the chaos via radio communications as they move to protect the family from what’s become a three-way battlefield.
“Get down!” I shout to Kasimira, pushing her behind a marble column as bullets whine overhead.
A crystal chandelier worth two hundred thousand dollars disintegrates in a shower of sparkling fragments as someone’s wild shot finds the wrong target. The pieces rain down like deadly snowflakes across Persian rugs now stained with blood from the first casualties.
“This way!” I grab Kasimira’s hand and pull her toward the eastern corridor, away from the heaviest firefight.
But Dante appears in our path like a nightmare made flesh. Blood is streaming from a graze on his temple, but his weapon steady in both hands.
“Hello, Father.”
“Let her go, Dante. This is between you and me.”
“This has always been about her.” His eyes fix on Kasimira with possessive hunger that makes my skin crawl. “You thought you could steal what belonged to me, corrupt her mind with promises of normal life. But she knows the truth now.”
“What truth?”
“That she can never be free as long as those companies exist.”
Behind us, the firefight intensifies as more Russian reinforcements breach the eastern windows. Glass explodesinward as tactical teams rappel from helicopters, their black uniforms stark against afternoon sunlight.
“Unless,” Dante continues, producing a thick document from his jacket, “she signs everything back to me. Transfers complete control of all shell companies, eliminates her legal exposure, and returns to her proper place as my fiancée.”
“I’m not signing anything,” Kasimira says, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding us.
“Sign it, or I kill you. Your choice.”
The gun in his hand doesn’t waver as the sound of automatic weapons echoes through the house. Somewhere in the distance, I hear Benedetto shouting orders to fall back and regroup, which means my security team is being overwhelmed by superior numbers.
“She’s pregnant with your brother,” I try reasoning with whatever humanity might remain in him. “Your own flesh and blood.”
“That bastard isn’t my blood.”
