Chapter 2
The convoy of armored black vehicles sped down the highway toward Washington National Airport, their flashing police escorts clearing the morning traffic. Inside the main SUV, Ethan sat in complete silence, his muscular hands clenched tightly on his knees. The luxury watch on his wrist ticked away the seconds, but his mind was fixed entirely on the picture Margaret had painted: his sweet, defenceless twin boys weeping in a dark nursery while a stranger mistreated them.
Sitting in the front seat, Marco glanced at his boss through the rearview mirror. "Boss, do you want me to send a tactical team back to the house right now? If the girl touched the boys, I'll handle her before you even land in London."
"No," Ethan growled softly, his voice dangerously calm. "We aren't going to London."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"Tell the pilot to take off as scheduled," Ethan commanded, leaning forward. "Let the tracker on my phone show that I'm over the Atlantic. But pull the convoy off at the next service exit. We go back on foot through the rear woods."
Understanding flashed across Marco's rugged features. "A trap."
"If Margaret is right, I want to catch Lena Morales in the act," Ethan said, his dark eyes flashing with a lethal promise. "I want to see her face when she realizes who she answered to."
Twenty minutes later, the armored SUV pulled into a secluded staging area three miles from the estate. Ethan stripped off his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt to reveal the intricate black tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms. He unholstered his sidearm, checked the magazine with fluid, practiced precision, and re-holstered it beneath his arm. Marco checked his own weapon, falling in step behind his master as they crossed the perimeter fence and disappeared into the thick timberland surrounding the estate grounds.
Using the hidden surveillance blind spots only Ethan knew, the two men moved through the woods like shadows. They reached the stone perimeter wall at the back of the mansion, slipping through an ancient, forgotten servant's gate. The estate was eerily quiet, the manicured lawn blanketed by fallen leaves.
Ethan led Marco silently up the rear service staircase, avoiding the squeaky floorboards with the instinct of a seasoned predator. They reached the main floor's service entrance, easing the reinforced door open without making a sound. The air inside smelled of beeswax, fresh lilies, and roasted coffee.
Ethan’s pulse hammered against his ribs, every muscle in his body coiled like a steel spring. His vision narrowed as he approached the grand double doors of the central living room. He pictured the nanny yanking his sons, neglecting their cries, and abusing his trust. His right hand rested flat against the heavy oak paneling, his fair face set in a terrifying mask of absolute vengeance.
"Stay at the door," Ethan whispered to Marco. "If she tries to run, break her legs."
May you like
Marco nodded, his hand hovering over his sidearm.
Ethan took a deep, steadying breath, his jaw locked tight. He gripped the polished brass handle, shoved the living room door open with violent force, and stepped into the doorway, ready to destroy the woman who had dared to harm his children.
