Chapter 8 - The Gunfight at the Estate
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted out of the study, unlocked the executive wall safe in the corner of the master bedroom, and pulled out Marco’s legally registered Beretta 9mm semi-automatic pistol. I checked the magazine—fully loaded.
The heavy glass French doors downstairs shattered with a deafening crash.
Footsteps rushed through the grand foyer. Heavy, tactical boots hitting the marble tile.
"Check the upstairs!" a gruff voice commanded. "The boss wants the house turned upside down!"
I ducked into the dark hallway alcove near the guest bedroom, pressing my back against the wall, holding my breath, my grip tight on the cold steel of the pistol.
A shadow appeared at the top of the stairs. A man dressed in black tactical gear, holding a suppressed assault rifle, scanning the hallway with a flashlight.
He took two steps toward my alcove.
I stepped out from the shadows, raised the Beretta, and fired.
The gunshot roared through the quiet estate like a thunderclap. The intruder staggered backward, dropping his rifle, and collapsed heavily onto the carpeted stairs.
Before the echo could fade, two more men rushed up the stairs from the opposite end of the hall.
"Contact! Up here!"
Bullets whined past my ear, splintering the oak doorframe behind me. Wood chips sprayed across my face. I dropped low to the ground, rounded the corner toward the master suite, and slammed the heavy oak door shut, locking it with the deadbolt just as a burst of automatic gunfire chewed through the wood.
I scrambled to the master balcony overlooking the back gardens.
The rain had stopped, leaving the stone patio slick and wet under the moonlight. Below, parked near the olive grove, was Dante Althaus’s black sedan, its engine idling.
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Without looking back, I climbed over the stone balcony railing, grabbed the sturdy drainage pipe running down the side of the stone facade, and slid rapidly down to the ground, burning my palms against the cold metal.
I hit the grass, rolling over my shoulder to absorb the impact, and sprinted toward the dense treeline of the vineyard just as the bedroom door upstairs was kicked open with a thunderous crash.
