Chapter 8 - The Breach at the Perimeter
The execution of Dominic’s protection plan was immediate, but Victor Hoxha was faster than anyone anticipated.
At 3:00 a.m. on a stormy Thursday, a coordinated hit team of twenty heavily armed mercenaries bypassed the outer security cameras of the Long Island estate, using military-grade jammers to cut off the mansion’s communication links to the local precinct. They didn't ram the front gates; they scaled the coastal cliffs from the water, invading the property from the blind spot behind the pool house.
The first indication of danger was the sharp, muffled thwip of a suppressed rifle shattering the glass of the conservatory.
Dominic woke up instantly, his hand grabbing the loaded Colt .45 from beneath his pillow. Beside him in the master wing, the alarm system was silent, but his internal radar was screaming. He sprinted down the hallway toward the children’s wing.
Before he could reach the door, the corridor erupted into chaos. Two masked gunmen turned the corner from the grand staircase, their automatic weapons raised.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee, firing three rapid shots that caught the first gunman in the chest, sending him crashing through a display cabinet of ancient porcelain. The second gunman returned fire, a hail of bullets ripping into the plaster walls above Dominic’s head, showering him with white dust.
From the end of the hall, the nursery door flew open.
Elena emerged, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in one hand, her other arm shielding Lucia, Valentina, and Mia behind her. Her eyes were wide with terror, but her stance was completely defiant—a princess of the underworld standing guard over her kingdom.
"Elena! Down!" Dominic roared.
He lunged forward, throwing his massive body over her and the children as the second gunman cleared the corner. A bullet grazed Dominic’s shoulder, a sharp, searing heat tearing through his linen shirt, but he managed to raise his weapon, firing two clean shots through the attacker’s visor. The man collapsed onto the plush carpet, dead before he hit the ground.
Marco and ten security guards came rushing up the stairs, their weapons drawn, their faces pale as they realized the inner perimeter had been compromised.
"Secure the house!" Dominic commanded, his voice raw, blood dripping down his arm from the shoulder wound. He turned to Elena, his hands instantly checking her face, her body, his eyes frantic. "Are you hurt? Are the girls okay?"
"We're fine, Dominic," Elena gasped, her hands shaking as she reached up to press her palm against his bleeding shoulder, trying to staunch the flow. "You're bleeding. Oh my god, you're bleeding."
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Mia began to cry, the loud, terrified wails of a child who was being sucked back into the fiery nightmare of her mother’s death. Dominic ignored his injury, dropping to his knees, pulling all three of his daughters and Elena into a single, massive embrace against the blood-stained wall.
"I’m here," Dominic whispered, his voice shaking with a profound, terrifying rage. "Papa’s here. Elena’s here. They can't touch us. I promise you, they will never touch us again."
