Chapter 7
The rain began to fall outside, heavy drops splattering against the high leaded glass windows of the Caldwell mansion. Inside, the grand house went dead silent as Ethan moved down the central corridor toward the rear service entrance.
He had shed his suit jacket completely, his open-collar white dress shirt clinging to his broad, muscular frame. Dark tattoos stood out sharply against his fair skin as he held his custom black sidearm at a high ready position. Behind him, the security monitors in the hallway flickered, showing six heavily armed men in black tactical gear advancing through the rainy garden toward the back patio.
Ethan didn't call for his outdoor security guards. He knew that if Margaret had arranged this breach, the guards at the gate were either bribed or already compromised. This was a personal execution.
He reached the heavy double glass doors overlooking the flooded patio. Through the blurred glass, he could see the shadows of three mercenaries approaching with suppressed assault rifles.
Ethan took a slow, deep breath, his heart beating with steady, lethal precision. He didn't wait for them to breach the door.
He kicked the heavy glass door outward with terrifying force. The reinforced frame shattered, spraying heavy glass shards into the faces of the two lead mercenaries.
Before the men could recover, Ethan stepped out into the pouring rain, firing four rapid, precise shots.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The suppressed gunshots cracked through the autumn storm like lightning strikes. The two lead mercenaries collapsed instantly onto the wet stone patio, their weapons clattering across the slick pavers.
The third mercenary spun around, raising his rifle, but Ethan closed the distance in a heartbeat. He slammed his left forearm into the man's chest, throwing him off balance, and drove his heavy pistol grip into the mercenary's jaw. Bone shattered with a loud crack, and the man dropped unconscious into the muddy flowerbeds.
From the tree line, two more muzzle flashes cut through the gray fog. Bullets ricocheted violently off the brick facade above Ethan's head, spraying stone dust into the air.
Ethan dove behind a massive stone pillar, his broad back pressed against the cold masonry, rain soaking through his white dress shirt. He checked his magazine count—four rounds remaining.
"Caldwell!" a voice shouted from the foggy garden in a harsh New York accent. "Give us the kids and we'll leave you breathing! The Moretti family owns this city now!"
Ethan let out a low, cold laugh that cut through the sound of the falling rain. He reached into his belt pocket, pulling out a spare magazine and slapping it into his weapon with a sharp, metallic click.
"You came into my home," Ethan shouted back, his voice echoing over the thunder. "You threatened my children. None of you are walking out of these gates alive."
He stepped out from behind the pillar, moving with fluid, lethal accuracy. The rain washed over his dark curly hair and rugged face as he returned fire, dropping the fourth mercenary with a single shot through the chest.
The fifth mercenary turned to flee back toward the woods, realizing the trap had failed, but Ethan pursued him through the slick grass, firing twice. The man collapsed near the iron perimeter fence.
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Within three minutes, the quiet garden fell silent once more, save for the heavy patter of rain against the leaves.
Ethan stood in the center of the wet lawn, his muscular chest heaving beneath his soaked shirt, his dark eyes sweeping the perimeter to ensure no threats remained. Satisfied, he turned back toward the mansion, his mind fixed entirely on the upper floor where his twin sons and the brave young nanny were waiting.
