Chapter 9 - The Wrath of the Wolf
Two miles away on the highway, Vincent's phone buzzed violently. It was an automated silent alarm from the estate's primary perimeter grid.
Vincent’s blood ran cold. "Frankie's not answering," he said to his driver, his voice dangerously quiet. "Drive. NOW."
The armored Mercedes surged forward, tearing through the rain at over one hundred miles per hour, running red lights and weaving through traffic like a missile.
Inside the mansion, the nursery door was finally kicked off its hinges. The heavy wardrobe fell forward with a deafening crash. A tall gunman stepped into the room, sweeping his flashlight across the shadows.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She stepped out from behind the doorway and swung the brass candlestick with all her strength, striking the gunman across the side of his head. The man grunted, dropping his flashlight, but he caught her wrist and threw her forcefully against the wall.
Sarah hit the floor, winded, but scrambled to bite his leg. The man swore loudly, raising his gun to pistol-whip her.
THUD.
A shot rang out from the doorway. The gunman stiffened, dropping his weapon, and collapsed dead onto the carpet.
Frankie stood in the ruined doorway, holding his bleeding shoulder, his gun raised and smoking. "Sarah! Are you alright?!"
"Tommy!" Sarah gasped, scrambling to her feet and diving into the closet. She pulled away the winter coats. Tommy was trembling, but unharmed, his small eyes wide with horror. She pulled him into her arms, weeping uncontrollably. "He's okay! He's okay!"
Downstairs, the front doors were blown inward.
Vincent Santangelo walked into his home.
He didn't look like a man; he looked like an elemental force of destruction. He carried a heavy shotgun in his hands, his face a mask of absolute, merciless fury. Behind him were six heavily armed bodyguards.
Paulie Varga was crouching near the back entrance, trying to reload his weapon, when he saw Vincent entering the foyer. Realizing he was completely cornered, Paulie panicked, dropping his gun and throwing his hands into the air.
"Vincent! Wait! Don't shoot!" Paulie screamed, backing away until his spine hit the glass doors. "It wasn't my idea! The Maronis forced me—"
Vincent didn't utter a word. He didn't ask questions. He didn't care about excuses.
He stepped forward, raised the shotgun, and fired once.
The blast echoed through the house, shattering the glass behind Paulie as the traitor collapsed dead onto the marble floor.
Vincent dropped the empty shotgun onto the floor, not even looking at the corpse. He turned and sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time, his chest heaving with exertion and terror.
"Sarah! Tommy!" he roared into the dark hallway.
He burst into the nursery. He saw Frankie sitting against the wall, holding a towel to his bleeding shoulder, and Sarah sitting on the floor in the corner, rocking a sobbing Tommy in her arms.
Vincent dropped to his knees before them. He pulled both Sarah and Tommy into his arms, wrapping his massive coat around them, burying his face in Tommy's dark curls.
"I'm here," Vincent sobbed, the powerful Don weeping openly in the dark room. "I'm here. You're safe. Grandpa is here."
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Tommy reached out with his tiny, trembling hand, touching Vincent's wet cheek. "Grandpa... the bad man tried to take Mama."
"Nobody will ever hurt you again, my boy," Vincent swore, kissing the top of the child's head, his voice ringing with an absolute, unbreakable promise. "Nobody."
