Chapter 4 - The Breach"Brandon! What is happening?!" Ashley screamed, jumping off the counter and backing into the living room as the light blinded them through the windows.
"Stay back!" Brandon yelled, pulling a golf club from a bag near the foyer. "I'm calling the police!"
He grabbed his phone, frantically dialing 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
"There are armed men crashing through my gate at 1422 Old Mill Road! Send patrol cars immediately!" Brandon shouted into the receiver.
There was a brief pause on the line. The dispatcher’s voice returned, smooth and eerily calm. “Sir, all units in your precinct are currently diverted to a severe traffic incident on Highway 9. Please stay indoors.”
"What?! Highway 9 is ten miles away! You need to send—"
Click. The dispatcher hung up.
Before Brandon could drop the phone, the heavy solid-oak front doors of the mansion were struck with a hydraulic breaching ram.
BOOM.
The brass lock sheared off the frame, sending splintered oak flying across the marble entrance. The doors flew wide open, and the cold night air rushed into the warm house.
Eight men clad in dark tailored suits stepped through the threshold in silent, lethal unison. They didn't draw weapons; they didn't need to. Their posture, their scars, and the absolute authority in their movements projected a terrifying threat.
At the center of the group, an elderly man in a long cashmere coat stepped over the broken door frame. He carried a silver-topped walking cane, though he didn't lean on it. His cold, dark eyes swept across the grand chandelier, the expensive artwork, and finally landed on Brandon, who was standing in the middle of the foyer holding a golf club with trembling hands.
"Who the hell are you?!" Brandon demanded, his voice cracking with fear despite his attempt to sound aggressive. "This is private property! Get out before I—"
Tony Lucchesi stepped forward, grabbed the titanium golf club out of Brandon's hand with a single casual movement, and snapped the steel shaft over his knee like a dry twig. He tossed the broken pieces onto the rug.
Brandon backed away, his knees shaking violently.
Vincent Moretti walked forward slowly, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. He stopped three feet from Brandon, looking him up and down as if he were inspecting a bug on his shoe.
"Where is my daughter?" Vincent asked softly.
Brandon stared at him, his mouth opening and closing without making a sound. "Your... your daughter?"
"Emma," Vincent clarified, his tone dropping an octave, echoing dangerously through the silent house. "Where is she?"
"She... she isn't here—" Brandon stammered.
Without a word, Tony reached out, grabbed Brandon by the throat, and lifted him off his feet, slamming his back hard against the wood-paneled wall. Brandon gasped for air, his hands clawing uselessly at Tony’s iron grip.
"I will ask you one more time," Vincent said smoothly, adjusting his cuff links. "And if you lie to me again, my friend here will tear your jaw off your face. Where is my daughter?"
Ashley emerged from behind the archway, sobbing hysterically. "In the basement! She's in the basement! Don't hurt us! The key is on the counter!"
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Vincent didn't even look at Ashley. He gestured toward the service hallway with a slight nod of his head. "Find her. Gently."
Four men immediately moved down the corridor toward the basement door.
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