Chapter 3 - THE STRANGER AT THE GATE
The red strobe light pulsed against my study walls.
My instincts took over before thought could register.
I pulled the custom Sig Sauer from my under-desk holster.
I racked the slide with a crisp metallic click.
Two tactical teams were stationed on the grounds, yet no gunfire returned from the north lawn.
That meant only one thing.
The outer guards were already neutralised.
I sprinted down the grand staircase, my socks making no sound on the runner carpet.
My first thought was not my empire.
It wasn't my vaults.
It was the nursery on the second floor.
I hit the nursery door with my shoulder.
The room was pitch black.
The scent of cold autumn air poured through an open balcony door.
"Claire? Chloe?" I called out, my voice raw and desperate.
The small beds were empty.
The blue blankets were kicked aside.
Panic, hot and sickening, clawed up my throat.
I stepped onto the balcony, gun raised, sweeping the terrace shadows.
A soft whisper cut through the rain.
"Shh... quiet, little moon. We're safe."
Beneath the stone archway of the adjoining linen closet sat Hannah.
She was sitting flat on the hardwood floor, her back against the reinforced brick corner.
Claire was clutched against her left side, her little hands buried in Hannah’s apron.
Chloe was tucked under her right arm, eyes wide with fear.
Hannah had her body curved forward, shielding both three-year-olds with her own flesh.
In her right hand, Hannah held an eight-inch stainless steel kitchen knife.
Her knuckles were white.
Her hazel eyes flashed like a wolf protecting its cubs.
She looked up at me through the dark.
She didn't drop the knife until she recognized my face.
"Two men," Hannah whispered, her breathing ragged.
"Tactical gear. Night-vision goggles. They breached through the servant terrace."
"Where are they?" I demanded.
"One is unconscious at the bottom of the service stairs," Hannah said.
I stared at her in utter shock.
"You took down an armed hitman?"
"I spilled two bottles of mineral oil down the polished wooden stairs," she said quietly.
"He broke his neck when he hit the marble landing."
A terrifying smirk crossed her lips, gone in a fraction of a second.
Footsteps echoed from the outer hallway.
Heavy, deliberate combat boots.
The second intruder rounded the doorframe, raising a silenced submachine gun.
He never got the chance to pull the trigger.
I fired twice.
Two hollow-point rounds took him in the center of his chest.
The intruder collapsed backward into the corridor with a dull thud.
Claire buried her face into Hannah’s neck, whimpering softly.
"Don't look, baby," Hannah murmured, stroking Claire’s curls with a blood-stained thumb.
"Just close your eyes and count the stars."
I walked over to the dead intruder.
I crouched down and ripped off his tactical balaclava.
A skull tattoo was inked on the man’s throat.
A viper biting an anchor.
The mark of Victor Moretti.
My oldest rival.
The man who swore to butcher my bloodline after I took over the Brooklyn shipping piers.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was Dominic.
"Boss! The south gate was hit. We captured their driver."
"Bring him to the basement," I ordered coldly.
I turned back to Hannah.
She was lifting Claire into her arms, standing up with effortless grace.
"You need to explain the locket around your neck, Hannah," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
Hannah’s gaze met mine without an ounce of hesitation.
"Tie up your prisoners first, Mr. Cross."
May you like
"Because when I tell you who let those men inside your gates, you're going to want to kill him yourself."
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