Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
The rain fell in blinding sheets over the estate’s cobblestone courtyard.
Floodlights bathed the perimeter in harsh, blinding white. Ethan stood in the center of the downpour, wearing a long black wool trench coat, his Kimber in hand. Behind him, thirty Carter soldiers stood with rifles raised, their faces carved of stone.
Opposite them, near the iron gates, stood three black SUVs. Vincent Moretti stepped out of the center vehicle, flanked by Julian Vance and a dozen heavily armed mercenaries wearing Russo syndicate patches.
"Vincent!" Ethan called out, his voice cutting through the roar of the rain like a razor. "You violate my territory and bring Russo dogs to my gate. Give me one reason why I shouldn't execute you where you stand."
Vincent Moretti was an older man with graying hair and cold, calculating eyes—eyes that looked identical to mine in the mirror. He sneered, unfazed by the weapons aimed at his chest.
"I came for my daughter, Carter," Vincent shouted back. "The alliance is over. Your cousin Derek made us a better offer. Chicago belongs to the Russo-Moretti coalition now. Hand Clara over, and we might let you keep your life."
I burst through the estate’s front doors, breaking free of Brian’s grasp, running into the rain.
"Clara! No!" Ethan roared, spinning toward me, genuine terror cracking his stoic facade. "Get back inside!"
"Father, stop!" I screamed, the rain plastering my hair to my face, soaking my clothes in seconds. I stopped a few paces behind Ethan, staring at the man who had raised me. "I found the manifests! I know about the Swiss accounts! You knew they were going to attack the house! You knew I was inside!"
Vincent looked at me, and for a fleeting second, an ugly flicker of guilt passed over his features, quickly replaced by ruthless calculation. "You did your duty, Clara. You bought me three months to reposition my assets. Now come over here before the shooting starts."
"She isn't going anywhere with you," Ethan growled, stepping directly in front of me, putting his massive frame between my father’s guns and my chest once again. "She is my wife. And you just signed your death warrant, Vincent."
"Is that so, cousin?" a voice chuckled from the shadows near the garage.
Derek Carter stepped out from behind the estate’s outer wall, holding a detonator in his left hand and a machine pistol in his right. He had three guards with him—men who had worn Carter colors an hour ago.
"The perimeter sensors are looped, Ethan," Derek laughed, his face twisted in psychotic triumph. "The back gate is already open. Russo’s main strike team is three minutes out. It’s over. You lose."
Ethan didn't flinch. His jaw set into iron. "You always were too stupid to check the wiring, Derek."
Ethan raised his left hand, snapping his fingers.
A deafening sniper shot cracked from the estate’s bell tower.
Derek’s detonator exploded into fragments of plastic and bone as a high-caliber round took his hand clean off. Derek shrieked in agony, dropping to his knees on the cobblestones, clutching his ruined wrist.
Chaos erupted.
"Fire!" Vincent yelled, diving behind his SUV as gunfire ripped through the courtyard.
Ethan tackled me to the ground behind a stone balustrade just as a hail of bullets chewed into the masonry above us. "Stay down!" he shouted, firing back over the lip of the stone.
"Ethan!" I cried out, gripping his soaked lapels. "Derek's men are flanking through the garden!"
Before Ethan could respond, an explosion rocked the side gate. Smoke, concrete, and fire billowed into the courtyard. The shockwave threw us both back against the estate doors.
Through the black smoke, hands grabbed me.
"Got the girl!" a voice snarled.
"Clara!" Ethan’s voice screamed through the ringing in my ears. I saw him lunging forward, his gun firing, taking down one of the men holding me, but Julian Vance appeared from the smoke, cracking the butt of a rifle against Ethan’s injured ribs.
Ethan stumbled, gasping in agony, his fresh stitches tearing open.
A rag soaked in chloroform was jammed against my nose and mouth. The sweet, chemical stench burned my lungs.
"Ethan!" I choked out, reaching toward him as the world spun into a sickening vortex of gray and black.
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The last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was Ethan Carter rising from his knees, his eyes burning with the wrath of a god who had just watched his temple burn, screaming my name into the night.
***
