Chapter 9 - The War for Westchester
By midnight, the storm had begun to clear, leaving behind a frozen, crystalline night sky over Westchester County.
Inside the master suite of the Moretti mansion, the atmosphere was quiet, warm, and secure.
Natalie Hart lay in the massive king-sized bed, draped in soft velvet blankets, an intravenous drip hooked to her arm, sleeping peacefully under the effect of mild sedatives. Dr. Shaw had cleaned her rib wound, closed the deep tissue lacerations with fine surgical sutures, and guaranteed that she would make a full recovery in a few days.
Sitting in a carved wooden rocking chair beside the bed was Gabriel.
He had removed his dark tactical gear. He wore a soft gray linen shirt and dark trousers.
Held securely in his broad left arm, wrapped in a warm cashmere blanket, was seven-day-old Daniel Moretti.
The baby was awake. His small, dark-haired head rested against Gabriel’s chest, his tiny blue eyes looking up at his father’s broad, scarred face with calm curiosity. His tiny right hand was wrapped tightly around Gabriel’s pinky finger.
Gabriel looked down at his son. He gently stroked the baby’s soft head with his thumb, marveling at the microscopic fingernails, the soft rising and falling of the small chest, the incredible reality that his own blood was beating inside this child’s heart.
The bedroom door opened silently.
Cole Mercer stepped into the room, wearing his tactical vest, his face set into a grim, rock-hard expression. He motioned for Gabriel to step into the hallway.
Gabriel carefully laid Daniel into the wooden bassinet beside Natalie’s bed, pulled the soft blanket up over his shoulders, and walked out into the carpeted corridor, closing the door softly behind him.
“What is it, Cole?” Gabriel asked, his voice low and sharp.
“Carmine Valenti just crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge with sixteen armored vehicles, Gabriel,” Cole reported, pointing to his satellite tablet screen. “Eighty men. Fully armed. They’re ten minutes from our outer perimeter gates.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed into dark, lethal slits. “Eighty men?”
“Carmine knows Dominic was taken out at the warehouse,” Cole explained. “He knows we have Natalie, and he knows the DNA test proved the child is yours. He realizes if he doesn't strike tonight, you will use your entire network to wipe the Valenti family off the map by tomorrow morning. He’s going all-in. A total assault on the estate.”
Gabriel walked over to the grand arched window at the end of the hallway, looking out at the long, snow-covered private drive leading up from the outer gates.
In the moonlit distance, sixteen pairs of bright yellow headlights were moving slowly through the snow-laden pine trees like a line of golden eyes.
“Eighty men,” Gabriel murmured softly.
He didn't panic. He didn't order his staff to evacuate.
A slow, terrifying smile—cold as the ice hanging from the roof eaves—touched the corners of Gabriel Moretti’s lips.
“Cole,” Gabriel said softly.
“Yes, Boss?”
“How many operators do we have on the grounds right now?”
“Forty-five,” Cole replied. “All former Special Forces, fully armed with heavy ordnance, sniper positions along the stone perimeter wall, and three automated tactical defense turrets mounted on the gatehouses.”
Gabriel reached into his pocket, pulled out his Sig Sauer P226, checked the magazine, and slid it back into his shoulder holster.
“Tell the gate operators to open the outer iron gates,” Gabriel commanded calmly.
Cole blinked in total shock. “What?! Open the gates? Boss, we can choke them at the perimeter!”
“No,” Gabriel said, turning to face his security chief, his pale gray eyes burning with an inhuman, murderous fire. “If we fight them at the gate, some of them might escape back to Jersey. I want all sixteen vehicles inside the courtyard.”
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Gabriel took two steps toward the grand staircase.
“I want Carmine Valenti and every single man he brought with him to drive right up to my front door,” Gabriel whispered. “And then I am going to teach the Tri-State area what happens when someone threatens my family.”
