Chapter 16 - The Trap SprungI shoved Sophia behind my legs, raising my Beretta just as the heavy wooden door of the broom closet swung wide open.
A towering, masked mercenary stepped out into the hallway, holding a suppressed assault rifle aimed straight at my chest.
Bang.
My bullet caught him squarely in the shoulder before he could pull his trigger. The mercenary stumbled backward, crashing hard against the ornate wallpaper, dropping his weapon with a loud clatter.
I closed the distance in two long strides, pressing the barrel of my gun against his temple.
“Who sent you?” I demanded, my voice icy. “The Calderons? Lawrence Vance?”
The man spat a mouthful of blood onto the Persian rug, letting out a dark, raspy chuckle beneath his black balaclava. “You... you think stopping us changes anything, Moretti? Vance already has your global accounts frozen. By midnight, your entire empire will belong to us.”
“Tell Vance his signature won't save him,” I said, before pistol-whipping him across the jaw, sending him sliding unconscious to the floor.
I scooped Sophia up into my arms. She wrapped her tiny arms tightly around my neck, clinging to my shoulder as gunfire continued to rattle through the lower courtyard.
“You’re very brave, Sophia,” I whispered into her hair as I carried her swiftly toward the reinforced panic stairwell at the back of the estate.
“My mommy told me to pay attention,” she replied innocently against my jacket. “And the crayons help me remember.”
When we reached the secure basement bunker, Gabriel and the remaining guards had already secured the heavy steel blast doors. Elena was huddled in the corner, sobbing with relief when she saw Sophia safe in my arms.
“Are you alright, baby?” Elena cried, pulling her daughter into a fierce embrace.
“I’m fine, Mama,” Sophia smiled, holding up her crayon box. “Mr. Moretti caught the bad man.”
I looked at Gabriel, who was monitoring the estate security cameras on a portable tactical tablet.
“The local response team just breached the grounds, boss,” Gabriel reported, his face grim. “They’ve neutralized the mercenaries outside. But the tactical feeds show Lawrence Vance just boarded a private jet at JFK airport bound for Zurich. He knows his cover is blown.”
I stepped away from the family, pulling out my encrypted satellite phone and dialing a direct, high-priority frequency.
“Marcus,” I said when the line connected.
“Moretti. Heard there was some excitement in Tuscany.”
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“Lawrence Vance is fleeing to Zurich with whatever assets he managed to siphon off,” I said, my voice cutting like winter steel. “I want his jet grounded before it crosses international airspace. And I want him delivered to my Manhattan study by midnight.”
“Consider it done,” Marcus replied with a dry click.
