Chapter 4 - The Breach at the North Gate
The explosion wasn't an accident. It was a statement.
Ten miles away, a rival syndicate led by Victor Moretti—an aging, ruthless Chicago boss who had watched Mercer siphon away half his shipping routes over the past two years—was making its move. Moretti knew he couldn't beat Mercer in a direct financial war, and he knew Mercer’s fortress was impenetrable to conventional hit squads.
So Moretti targeted the perimeter’s blind spots.
Back at Hawthorne Ridge, the estate’s automated security lights flickered from white to a harsh, blinking red. Sirens began to wail, cutting through the snowy afternoon air like a knife.
Inside the main study, Adrian Mercer stood motionless by his desk, staring at the central monitoring console. Half a dozen monitors displayed thermal feeds of the north perimeter wall. Three masked men carrying heavy-duty wire cutters and suppressed automatic rifles had just scaled the outer fence near the old greenhouse.
"Sir," Marcus’s voice crackled through the encrypted comms earpiece. "North sector breached. They’re moving through the service corridors toward the east wing. They’re looking for leverage."
Mercer didn't flinch. His face remained carved from granite. "They think my leverage is in the safe," he murmured coldly. "They don't realize my leverage is currently drinking apple juice in the west wing."
He reached out, his hand hovering over a hidden panel beneath his desk, when a sudden, sickening realization hit him.
The west wing shared a direct corridor with the old service tunnels—the exact route Moretti’s men were currently using to infiltrate the main house.
"Marcus," Mercer barked, his voice dropping into a register of pure ice. "Where is the girl?"
"Locked in the west guest quarters, Boss. Just like you ordered."
"Move your team there now," Mercer commanded, drawing a custom Sig Sauer P226 from his holster with practiced, fluid speed. "If those men reach the west wing before I do, throw every body you have into the grinder. Do you understand me?"
"On my way!"
Mercer slammed his desk drawer shut, pivoting toward the heavy double doors of his study. But as he pulled them open, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Sitting right outside the study doors, blocking the hallway with his massive black frame, was Bruno.
The Cane Corso wasn't pacing. He was staring straight down the long, carpeted corridor toward the west wing junction, his lips curled back in a silent, lethal snarl. And right beside him, holding onto the thick leather collar with one tiny hand, stood Emma.
May you like
She had her red winter coat on over her pajamas, and her purple boots were mismatched.
"Hey," Emma said brightly as Mercer stared at her in shock. "The loud noise scared the bunny. Can Bruno walk with us?"
