THE PREGNANT MAID WHO WAS SECRETLY AN FBI AGENT: THE BLOODLINE OF SECRETS AND THE SHADOW OF THE RUSSO EMPIRE

Adrian Russo stepped from behind the hydraulic counterbalance of the gantry crane, firing a heavy assault weapon from the hip.

He had secured a fresh drum magazine, and the weapon roared in deafening, disciplined bursts that tore through Vance’s vanguard.

Two tactical contractors dropped instantly, their armor shattered by the armor-piercing rounds Adrian had loaded for close-quarters breach work.

The remaining operators scrambled for cover behind heavy steel engine crates and fuel barrels, returning fire in a chaotic, deafening crossfire.

"Move, Emma!" Adrian bellowed, his voice cutting through the roar of combat.

"The crane ladder leads to the fuel bunker service shaft!"

Emma didn't wait.

She scooped Noah into her arms, keeping her low profile, and sprinted along the catwalk toward the northern maintenance ladder.

Rounds punched through the steel grating under her feet, sparks flying into the air as the contractors tried to lead her through the smoke.

She reached the industrial ladder, slung her weapon across her chest, and helped Noah onto the metal rungs.

"Climb, Noah! Straight down into the pit, go!"

Noah scrambled down the ladder with surprising speed, adrenaline pushing his small body past fear.

Emma followed right behind him, firing three rounds downward with her free hand to suppress a contractor who was trying to flank Adrian’s position.

The bullet struck the concrete inches from the shooter’s face, driving him back behind a heavy tool chest.

Emma hit the ground floor, grabbed Noah’s hand, and dove behind a massive cast-iron machining lathe beside Adrian.

Adrian was bleeding from a shrapnel cut across his forehead, his dark hair soaked with sweat, blood, and rain.

He slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle, his teeth bared in a feral grin as he glanced at Emma and Noah.

"You took your sweet time, Carter," Adrian panted, his chest heaving against his tactical rig.

"I had to listen to Vance’s retirement speech," Emma snapped back, checking the chamber of her sidearm.

"He has six shooters left, and they've got thermite charges."

"They won't get the chance to use them," Adrian said, tapping a heavy encrypted radio mounted on his chest harness.

Emma looked at him, her brows furrowing.

"Who are you talking to? Your house guards are thirty miles south."

"My guards are," Adrian said, leaning around the lathe to fire a four-round burst that pinned two contractors behind an aircraft tug.

"My grandmother’s friends aren't."

Before Emma could ask what that meant, the high-pitched screech of heavy tires tearing across wet tarmac echoed from outside the hangar.

Through the blasted hangar doors, four massive armored transport vehicles belonging to the New York State Police Special Operations Section slammed to a halt.

Behind them came three dark blue Suburbans bearing the gold insignia of the Department of Justice Office of the Inspector General.

Dozens of state troopers in full tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, their carbines raised, setting up an impenetrable perimeter across the tarmac.

Over an emergency public address system, a booming voice cut through the gunfire:

"Federal tactical units inside Hangar Seven!"

"This is Inspector General Thomas Miller!"

"Cease fire immediately and drop your weapons!"

"All operational waivers issued under Project Cobalt are revoked under executive order!"

"Stand down, or lethal force is authorized!"

Inside the hangar, Vance’s contractors froze, their weapons wavering between Adrian’s position and the overwhelming force assembling at the doorway.

Vance stood in the center of the floor, his face pale with shock, staring at the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet concrete.

Emma looked at Adrian in absolute disbelief.

"The Inspector General?" she whispered.

"How did you get Miller here?"

Adrian wiped blood from his brow, his slate eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

"Margaret didn't just sit in her wheelchair and cry after Lawson left our house tonight," Adrian said.

"Vincenzo spent forty years paying for the law school tuition of every bright, honest kid in upstate New York who hated federal corruption."

"Thomas Miller’s father was my grandfather's chief mechanic on the Brooklyn piers."

"When Margaret realized Lawson had turned, she picked up her private landline and called the one man in Washington who had been waiting twenty years for an excuse to dismantle Harold Vance’s empire."

Adrian glanced down at Noah, who was looking up at the two battle-hardened adults with wide, awe-struck eyes.