Chapter 2 - Blood on the Welcome Mat
The screech of peeling wood splintered the quiet interior of the craftsman cottage as the pry bar tore through the jamb.
I didn't lunge forward like a hotheaded brawler; I moved with the fluid, calculated silence of a man who had cleared contested warehouses in Palermo.
My back pressed flush against the wall beside the front entryway, my sidearm drawn and raised to eye level, finger resting disciplined outside the trigger guard.
Down the narrow hallway, I heard the faint, desperate click of the rear bedroom door locking, followed by Emily’s frantic, hushed shushing of the baby.
The door groaned a second time before a heavy combat boot kicked the center panel with explosive, trained force.
The brass deadbolt tore out of the dry pine casing, spraying sharp splinters across the entrance rug as the door swung wide into the storm.
Two men poured across the threshold in tight tactical formation, snow swirling around their dark nylon parkas and knit ski masks.
They weren't common street muggers or desperate junkies hunting for holiday jewelry; their footwork was disciplined, their sidearms held in a low-ready stance.
The lead intruder swept his suppressed nine-millimeter toward the kitchen counter, expecting an unarmed, helpless young mother hiding behind the island.
Before his eyes could adjust to the dim living room, I stepped out from the blind spot behind the door frame.
I brought the heavy steel barrel of my Kimber down across the bridge of the first man’s nose with the full rotational force of my torso.
Bone shattered with a wet, sickening crunch that cut off his breath before he could utter a single word of warning.
His companion reacted instantly, pivoting his suppressed pistol toward my chest, but I was already closing the distance inside his guard.
I seized his wrist, twisting it inward until the ligaments popped, forcing the muzzle toward the ceiling just as he squeezed off a muffled shot.
The bullet tore through the plaster crown molding with a dull pop, showering us with fine white dust.
I drove my left elbow straight into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs, then brought my knee violently into his groin.
As his body folded forward in agony, I wrapped my arm around his neck, wrenched his weapon from his ruined grip, and flung him to the hardwood floor.
The first man was struggling to push himself up on hands and knees, blood pouring through the knit fabric of his black mask onto the rug.
I planted my heavy boot directly onto the center of his spine, pinning him flat against the floorboards with crushing weight.
“Don't move a single finger, or I will paint this hallway with your skull,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper, yet dripping with lethal intent.
Outside in the snowy street, an idling engine roared to life as a dark gray SUV parked at the curb suddenly recognized the ambush had failed.
Tires squealed against the slush as the getaway driver hammered the accelerator, speeding away into the blizzard without waiting for his team.
I kept my boot planted on the conscious man's back while keeping the cold steel of my Kimber pressed firmly behind his right ear.
The man on the floor groaned, spitting blood against the wood as he realized who was standing over him.
“Moretti…” he choked out through broken teeth, his foreign accent carrying a distinct, harsh cadence that belonged to the eastern docks.
“You’re smarter than you look,” I murmured, leaning down slightly so he could feel the cold heat of my breath against his ear.
“Now you’re going to tell me exactly who paid you to kick down the door of a woman carrying a newborn child on Christmas Eve.”
“Go to hell,” he wheezed, attempting to twist his shoulder to reach for a hidden blade inside his tactical vest.
I didn't hesitate; I pressed the barrel into the soft meat of his left shoulder and squeezed the trigger without blinking.
The suppressed crack was tiny, but the heavy .45 hollow-point round tore through his deltoid, pinning his shoulder to the floor with explosive agony.
The man screamed, a muffled, gurgling howl that shook through his teeth as his entire body convulsed from the shock of the trauma.
“The next one goes through your spine, and you will spend the rest of your miserable life chewing through a straw,” I said, perfectly calm.
“Who sent you?”
“Lucian!” he screamed, his pride shattering instantly under the unbearable reality of my cold executioner's demeanor.
“Lucian Vance! He said the girl had something that could break you! He said you didn't know she was here!”
A cold, suffocating rage settled deep into the marrow of my bones, freezing every loose emotion until only pure vengeance remained.
Lucian Vance was my former underboss, the ambitious snake I had exiled to the southern rail yards two years ago after catching him skimming cartel imports.
I had spared his life back then out of respect for his late father, a loyal lieutenant who had bled for my family during the Waterfront Wars.
That mercy had now nearly cost me the life of my only child and the only woman I had ever truly loved.
Lucian hadn't just followed Emily to hurt her; he had gathered intelligence, watched her belly swell, and waited for the perfect moment of leverage.
He had planned to kidnap my newborn son to force me to surrender the port terminals and hand over the entire Pacific Northwest syndicate.
“Where is Lucian waiting for your call?” I asked, pressing the barrel a fraction of an inch deeper into the ruined shoulder meat.
“The old dry docks… Pier Forty-Two…” the hitman wept, trembling violently from blood loss and hypothermia.
“He’s got ten guys with him… waiting for the kid… please, man, don't kill me, I was just hired off the docks!”
“You broke into my family's home,” I whispered softly against his ear.
“In my world, there is no parole for that.”
I swung the heavy steel slide of the Kimber against the base of his skull with precise, concussive force, knocking him instantly into deep blackness.
I checked his unconscious partner; the first man was out cold from the shattered facial bones and severe cerebral concussion.
Quickly, I grabbed their zip-ties from their tactical pouches and bound their wrists and ankles behind their backs with brutal efficiency.
I stripped them of their spare magazines, knives, and burner phones, tossing the weapons onto the kitchen counter.
I wiped a fleck of dark crimson from the sleeve of my white shirt, took a single steadying breath, and turned toward the dark hallway.
“Emily,” I called out, softening my tone as much as my gravelly voice would allow.
“It’s over. The house is clear. Come out.”
A long, agonizing moment passed before the bedroom door opened a sliver, casting a thin blade of light across the blood-splattered hallway.
Emily stepped out cautiously, Noah pressed so tightly against her chest that only the crown of his dark, downy hair was visible.
Her eyes traveled down to the two bound, bleeding bodies on the floor, and her face went completely bloodless.
She dropped her forehead against the edge of the hallway wall, her breath coming in shallow, hyperventilating gasps of pure panic.
“They found us… oh God, Gavin, they actually found us…” she sobbed, her knees trembling so badly she had to lean against the drywall.
I crossed the distance between us in three long strides, wrapping my long arms around both her and the baby, pulling them into my chest.
She didn't push me away this time; she buried her face into the crook of my neck, weeping uncontrollably as the terror finally broke her.
I felt the tiny, rhythmic thump of Noah’s heartbeat vibrating against my ribs, protected between the two of us like an ember in a storm.
“They didn't touch you,” I murmured into her hair, kissing her cold temple while my eyes remained locked on the open front door.
“They are never going to touch either of you again, Emily. I swear that on my mother’s grave.”
“We can’t stay here, Gavin,” she wept, looking up at me with wide, frantic eyes.
“There was a car outside… more will come… Lucian knows I live here!”
“This house is dead to us now,” I agreed, pulling back slightly to inspect her face for any injuries, finding only tears and exhaustion.
“We are leaving right now. Grab Noah’s essential bag, his formula, and warm clothes. Nothing else matters.”
“Where are we going? Not to your penthouse, Gavin, they know where that is!”
A dark, mirthless smile curved the corner of my lips as I pulled my phone from my overcoat pocket and dialed my primary security detail.
“We aren't going to the penthouse, Em,” I said, listening to the phone ring once before my head of security answered.
“We are going to the fortress. The one property Lucian Vance doesn't even know exists.”
I brought the phone to my ear as my commander's voice barked through the receiver: “Boss? Where are you? The perimeter team lost your car.”
“Dante,” I said smoothly, stepping over the pool of blood in the entryway.
“Bring three armored Suburbans, the clean-up crew, and a trauma medic to Emily’s address in Bellevue immediately.”
“Emily's address? Boss, what happened?” Dante’s voice sharpened instantly into combat readiness.
“Lucian Vance just tried to take my son,” I said plainly.
The silence on the other end of the line was absolute, terrifying, and total.
May you like
“Send the heavy hitters, Dante,” I added, my eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom.
“Because before this holy night is over, we are going to burn Pier Forty-Two to the waterline.”
